In The Pull Of Gravity
by poetzproblem
Summary: Rachel wonders if it's possible to fall a little more in love with the same person everyday, because she really thinks it's happening with Quinn. Every conversation, every expression, every gesture—no matter how small or otherwise insignificant—touches Rachel in new and unexpected ways. Follow-up to 'This Is How We Tried To Love.'
1. I Have Been Dreaming

**Author's Note: **Follow up to_ This Is How We Tried To Love._ Alternate Season 4 with spoilers to 4:14, _I Do_.

Thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being an awesome beta.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Glee_ or the characters - if I did it would have ended after season 3 - I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

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**In The Pull Of Gravity**

_I dreamed you were a poem,  
__I say, a poem I wanted to show someone...  
__and I laugh and fall dreaming again  
__of the desire to show you to everyone I love,  
__to move openly together  
__in the pull of gravity, which is not simple,  
__which carries the feathered grass a long way down the upbreathing air.  
__~Adrienne Rich, Twenty-One Love Poems, II_

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**Part I: I Have Been Dreaming**

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It's the second week of February when Quinn Fabray makes use of that Metro North pass for only the third time, and she's once again flowing along with the crowd of travelers slowly making their way from the platform at Grand Central Terminal. The last time she was here was at Kurt Hummel's request, and he'd been waiting for her at the gate with a solemn face and a stilted apology for having called her to New York. She hadn't been completely certain why she'd agreed to come—probably a mix of her love for Rachel that refused to fade and the selfish need to keep the girl from stripping naked on film for anyone and everyone to see—but it turned out to be one of the best decisions that Quinn had ever made. She'd arrived slightly heartsick and left completely in love and happier than she's ever been in her life.

Quinn flushes with pleasure at the thought of her girlfriend—and that's a word she'd never imagined using in the past, but it sounds so perfect to her now. She and Rachel had spent three days together during her last visit, talking and kissing, and cuddling and kissing, and—well, _arguing_, because that's who they are—and kissing. They'd slept in each other's arms for two nights, though they hadn't had sex—okay, had sex _again, _if she's being completely accurate. It's amazing what three days can do. Quinn doesn't think she's ever felt so close to another person.

She quickly catches sight of Rachel carelessly elbowing her way between a disgruntled couple, and Quinn smiles widely at the expression of happiness and love on Rachel's gorgeous face that's meant only for her. She feels like she's waited forever to see Rachel look at her this way. Rachel practically throws herself into Quinn's arms, murmuring her name in the seconds before she claims Quinn's smiling lips for her own.

Quinn's arms slide effortlessly around Rachel's waist as she returns the kiss with vigor—the nine days since their last kiss suddenly feel like a lifetime without sustenance. She'll never stop being amazed by how _right_ this feels. For years, her mind had been a constant cacophony of doubt and fear and self-hatred, but somehow Rachel quiets all of that. Maybe that's why she hadn't felt any desire to run and hide after that first night with Rachel—because for the first time in her life, everything inside of her was calm. But then Rachel had ripped that all away from her in the harsh morning light, and Quinn had been lost again, drowning in a sea of chaos and confusion that she couldn't escape—no matter how hard she'd tried to swim to safety. She's not proud of how easily she'd reverted to her old tricks in a failed attempt to get over Rachel Berry, using the besotted men (and women) at Yale to make herself feel better—feel _desired_. It hadn't worked. No one can quiet her soul (or heat her blood) the way Rachel does, and now that Quinn has her, she doesn't plan to let go.

Eventually, she pulls back from their embrace with a soft smile. "Hi," she sighs.

"I've missed you," Rachel breathes, seemingly reluctant to let go of Quinn despite the fact that they're standing in the middle of a busy terminal. Quinn thinks it's a good sign.

"It's only been a week, and we've talked every day. You've hardly had time to miss me."

"Haven't you missed me?" Rachel asks with a pout.

Quinn licks her lower lip before biting into it with a shy grin. "Every minute," she husks, ducking her head to steal another quick kiss. She grudgingly releases her hold on Rachel, who sighs in disappointment before reaching for the little, plaid pilot's case that Quinn has opted to use for this trip. Quinn rolls her eyes indulgently and allows Rachel to take her bag. She actually finds it incredibly endearing that Rachel constantly wants to do little things like that for her.

Rachel reaches down to entwine their fingers—Quinn loves the way their hands fit together so perfectly. "Are you hungry? We can have dinner somewhere and take a taxi back to Bushwick," Rachel suggests as they begin to walk through the busy terminal.

"I grabbed a quick sandwich before I left New Haven," Quinn says with an apologetic shrug. "I'm actually kind of tired. Maybe we could just go back to your place and…rest," she drawls, dropping her voice suggestively. _Or not rest_, she thinks wickedly. She just wants to be alone with Rachel.

"It will hardly be _restful_ with Santana there," Rachel complains, giving Quinn's bag a frustrated jerk that causes the wheels to rattle against the floor. The reminder works like a bucket of ice water on Quinn's libido, and her smile droops.

Rachel had called her last Thursday in a panic, rambling nonstop about Santana showing up on their doorstep with suitcase in hand and announcing that she was moving in. Quinn had known that Santana was unhappy at Louisville—even unhappier about Brittany and her relationship with Sam—but she'd been as surprised as Rachel to find out Santana had dropped out of school and decided to try her luck in New York. Apparently, she's been sleeping on that disgusting, uncomfortable futon for the last six days—Kurt's new friend Adam had even managed to fix it so it folded down all the way.

"I was really hoping we could spend some time alone together before…" Rachel trails off with a pensive frown.

Quinn's stomach flips unpleasantly, and she tugs her hand out of Rachel's and shoves it into her coat pocket. "Before we have to pretend we're _just friends_," she spits, hurt and frustrated over Rachel's reluctance to announce their relationship to their friends and family.

Rachel reaches out to touch Quinn's arm, stopping their forward progress and urging her out of the way of the people hurrying in all directions around them. "That's not what I meant," she insists as she determinedly recaptures Quinn's downcast eyes. "You agreed that we should wait to tell Santana about our fledgling relationship together."

It's true that Quinn hadn't wanted Rachel to face Santana's very special version of supportive friendship alone, but, "_You _said we shouldn't tell anyone else."

"_Yet_ ," Rachel frantically reminds her. "I suggested that we shouldn't tell anyone else _yet_. Going back to Lima for this wedding is going to be awkward enough without having to explain that you and I are together romantically."

"You just don't want Finn to know," Quinn accuses petulantly, fisting her hand inside her coat pocket and sullenly averting her eyes.

Rachel sighs heavily, glancing away as she admits, "You're right. I don't want him to know." Quinn feels a little sick at the admission. Rachel has never tried to sugarcoat that she still cares deeply for Finn—still loves him—and Quinn can't hope to compete with their history without resorting to dirty tricks. She's not completely above doing that if it means keeping Rachel.

Rachel steps closer to her and reaches up to cup her face. "I love you, Quinn," she vows without hesitation, "but I almost married Finn last year, and I still care about him. Finding out that you and I are together is going to hurt him," she says with a sad smile, "and Mr. Schuester's wedding isn't the right time or place for us to…come out."

She falters over the last words, and Quinn stares into Rachel's dark eyes with unwavering intensity. Rachel is obviously still uncomfortable with all of this—still struggling to come to terms with being in love with another woman and what it will mean for the dreams that she's been working toward since she was a little girl. Quinn is still a little nervous about all of that too—she really isn't looking forward to telling her mother—but she's had the last year to process her feelings for Rachel. She can't help it if she wants to strut into that church in Lima with Rachel on her arm and her head held high as she announces to everyone they know that Rachel is her girlfriend—and that Finn Hudson is never getting another chance with her.

"Will there ever be a right time or place?" Quinn questions softly.

"I'm getting there, Quinn," Rachel promises, stroking her fingers along Quinn's jaw. "I'm not ashamed of you," she assures her, "and I certainly don't secretly want Finn back. But this is still so new. I just need you to be a little more patient with me."

Quinn bites into her lower lip, and Rachel brushes her thumb over the spot, gently prying the poor, abused flesh from between her teeth. Quinn turns her head slightly, pulling her hand from her pocket to reach up and encircle Rachel's wrist before gently guiding her hand down and sliding her palm against Rachel's to link their hands together once again. "I can be patient," Quinn murmurs. "I've _been _patient. But I won't hide in closets and lie about us forever, Rachel. I'm tired of living that way."

"I won't ask you to," Rachel swears, squeezing Quinn's hand. "We'll only be in Lima for a few days, okay? I just want us to have some time alone together before we start telling our friends and families. But we _will_ tell them, Quinn. I promise."

Quinn holds on to that promise with her whole heart, and it's made easier by the fact that they're standing here, in the middle of a Grand Central Terminal, holding one another like any other pair of lovers would. Rachel might not be ready to tell everyone they know, but she also isn't shying away from public displays of affection here in New York. It's enough for now, and Quinn nods, murmuring a soft, "Okay."

"But first we have to tell Santana, because I refuse to hide in my own home," Rachel says with determination. "I've had to resort to taking your phone calls in the bathroom because it's the only room with a door where I can have a little privacy. I'm certain Santana must think that I have some kind of digestive issue."

Quinn smothers a smile. "She probably just thinks you're in there masturbating," she teases. She expects Rachel to be shocked and affronted by the suggestion, but Rachel's clamps her mouth closed tightly, darting her eyes away while her cheeks flush crimson. Quinn gasps, "Rachel!"

"It's a natural human urge," she defends hotly. "Especially lately."

Quinn bites into her lip again to stifle a moan at the unspoken indication that Rachel is thinking of _her_ while she touches herself. She closes her eyes and imagines Rachel—locked in her bathroom wearing those tiny, little shorts and nothing else and… "Do you think we can kick Kurt and Santana out tonight?"

Rachel puffs out a breath and shakes her head sadly. "We might be able to convince Kurt to leave for an hour or two, but I doubt Santana will be so accommodating. I only hope that she doesn't feel like posting an announcement on her Facebook page."

"God, she's going to be insufferable," Quinn complains.

"Going to be?" Rachel grumbles. "You haven't been living with her for the last six days."

Quinn doesn't have to live with Santana to know her stance (or lack thereof) on personal space and property. She'd only had to invite Santana to her house one time to learn that she needed to lock up anything and everything that she wanted kept private. "No, but I have five years of history with her that she can use as ammunition to embarrass me. And you," Quinn admits quietly, thinking about all the nasty things that she'd said about Rachel in the distant past—and all the potentially revealing things like convincing Santana to make Rachel prom queen.

"Please tell me that you two never," Rachel stops talking abruptly, pursing her lips with a frown as her hand tightens around Quinn's.

Quinn's eyes widen as she mentally completes Rachel's question. "Oh God, no," she chokes on an incredulous laugh. "She just…knows things that I'd rather she didn't. And I may have…purposely antagonized her at Thanksgiving," she says prudently.

Quinn had told Rachel some of what happened during her last visit to Lima—how she'd downplayed their contact, even lying about not visiting New York, and embellished how happy she was at Yale, including her short-lived dalliance with Alex—the psychology professor whom Rachel still refuses to acknowledge by name. At least Quinn had gotten some free therapy before she'd dropped Alex for lying about the divorce. She and Rachel have agreed to put those three months of mutual stupidity behind them.

"You are very good at antagonizing people," Rachel teases with a straight face.

Quinn tugs at her hand, narrowing her eyes as she leans forward. "I'm very good at other things that you'll be deprived of if you don't start being nicer to me," she warns with an arched brow.

Rachel licks her lips, rocking up on her toes and whispering, "I can be very nice," before she brushes a feather-light kiss across Quinn's mouth and pulls a soft hum of pleasure from her.

"Mmm…maybe I am a little hungry after all," she purrs, chasing Rachel's lips and capturing them in a far more sensual kiss that makes Quinn really wish Rachel didn't have any roommates.

Eventually, they do make their way out of Grand Central Terminal hand-in-hand. They take a taxi this time instead of the subway because Quinn has more luggage for the trip back to Lima, and also because it's already after dark on a Tuesday evening, and they have an early flight to Ohio tomorrow. It would have been easier for Quinn to just fly straight home, but she selfishly wants as much time with Rachel as she can manage, especially since they won't be attending the wedding as an official couple. Needless to say, they take full advantage of the taxi ride.

When the car stops in front of Rachel's building, Quinn has to give her a little nudge to get her moving. Rachel sighs dramatically, but she reluctantly slides out of the taxi and then gallantly offers her hand to Quinn, who accepts it with a grin. She allows Rachel to take her bag again as they walk inside the building.

They stop in front of the door, and Rachel nervously glances over at her. "As relieved as I'll be to tell Santana the truth, I'm not looking forward to the constant teasing and insinuations that will undoubtedly follow."

"We should just do it quickly," Quinn suggests, "like ripping off a band-aid."

"Except Santana has really sharp fingernails, and you just know that she's going to dig in and take off a layer of skin along with the adhesive," Rachel rambles.

Quinn shakes her head. "You're being ridiculous."

Rachel frowns at her. "Actually, she does keep her nails unusually long for a lesbian. That can't be particularly pleasant for her sexual partners."

Quinn considers this for a moment before she looks at Rachel suspiciously. "Why are you paying attention to Santana's nails?"

Rachel shrugs one shoulder. "It's just something that I happened to notice after she moved in that I never gave much thought to before you and I…well," she ducks her head with a sheepish grin. "I've just been thinking more about the importance of proper hand and nail care lately."

A slow smile spreads over Quinn's face, and she lifts Rachel's hand in hers, glancing down to inspect the soft skin and impeccably short fingernails. She hums in approval as she lifts Rachel's hand to her lips and presses a light kiss to her fingers. Rachel licks her lips as she watches Quinn's every movement. Quinn brings their joined hands down slowly, smirking proudly at the visible effect that she has on her girlfriend. Rachel groans, stepping forward to steal one last kiss before they go inside. Their mouths slide together hungrily until they hear Kurt's voice from inside the apartment telling Santana that he thinks he hears them outside. They break apart quickly, and Quinn makes a vain attempt to fix her lipstick before the door slides open.

They're barely over the threshold before Kurt is reaching for Quinn's hand. "Welcome back, stranger," he teases, pulling her in for a quick hug that Quinn returns somewhat awkwardly. She still isn't quite used to these more tactile displays of affection from Kurt.

She whispers a soft, "Hi, Kurt," into his collar before she pulls back.

"What?" Santana's voice cuts in. "Am I invisible?" she asks, having uncoiled from her position on the futon to stand behind Kurt with her arms crossed under her breasts.

Quinn rolls her eyes as she works open the buttons of her coat. "Hello, Santana."

"Yeah, whatever," she dismisses with a bored shrug. "Just don't think you're getting the couch to sleep on tonight. You can park your chubby ass on a chair or the floor."

"The floor is probably cleaner than that futon," Quinn remarks, flashing a teasing grin at Rachel, who rolls her own eyes in response.

"Please, Santana," Kurt chastises as he takes Quinn's coat, "we don't make our guests sleep on the floor. In any case, that certainly won't be necessary for Quinn."

Quinn's eyes dart to Rachel, and she watches her blush and glance nervously at Santana before she clears her throat and pushes Quinn's suitcase at Kurt. "Why don't you put this in my bedroom, Kurt?" she prompts with a blatant shut-the-hell-up expression. He gives her an odd look, but he loops Quinn's coat over his arm, takes the case, and heads towards the bedroom.

"Oh, I see how it is," Santana says, and Quinn can actually feel Rachel tense beside her. "You'll give up your comfy bed for Ms. Ivy League, but not for your own roommate."

"Maybe because Quinn was actually invited," Rachel mutters, relaxing slightly as she takes off her own coat.

"I was invited," Santana reminds her huffily.

"For a _visit_, Santana. Not forever."

"So if we call this an extended visit, do I get to sleep in your bed, too?"

"No," Quinn growls in stereo with Rachel. Their eyes catch, and they both grin a little.

Santana doesn't seem to notice. "Come on. It's not like I'm gonna molest you in your sleep," she huffs testily, and then she tilts her head and gives Rachel a slow, noticeable once over that annoys Quinn more than it should. "Although I have to say, Rachel, your new look is unexpectedly hot, and I have developed a certain appreciation for experimenting college girls."

"I'm not experimenting," Rachel practically shouts. Quinn clenches her jaw at the unpleasant memory, and she glares at Santana darkly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Santana rolls her eyes hard. "Oh, calm your itty-bitty titties. We all know you're as straight as the stick up Quinn's ass," and Rachel colors and glances away guiltily, "and even if you weren't, we live together now so you're in my no fly zone."

"You're damn right she is," Quinn bites back possessively, barely resisting the urge to pull Rachel into her side. It's not that she thinks Santana is being at all serious with her comments—she's just being her usual crass self and trying to push Rachel's buttons—but Quinn no longer feels any need to suppress her urge to protect and defend Rachel from people like Santana. No one is going to mess around with her girlfriend while she's standing right here.

Maybe it's something in Quinn's posture, or maybe it's something in the way that Rachel is looking at her, because Quinn swears that she can feel the subtle shift in Santana from the bitchy troublemaker to the frighteningly single-minded predator on the scent of a kill.

Santana laughs—half-amused and half-incredulous—as she scrutinizes Quinn with dark, calculating eyes. Her gaze darts to Rachel, then back again several times before she mumbles, "No freaking way," under her breath. When the familiar, calculating expression finally appears on Santana's face, Quinn's body vibrates with anticipation because she recognizes that look. "You know," Santana drawls with feigned indifference. "It suddenly occurs to me that you're both wearing the same shade of lipstick."

Quinn's lips twitch at the corners, and she shrugs nonchalantly, glancing at Rachel with twinkling eyes. "It's a popular color," she hedges, wondering how far Santana will push it.

Santana reaches out and puts one hand on Quinn's shoulder and the other on Rachel's, gently guiding them around until they're practically face to face with Santana standing in between them. "I'm pretty damn certain that Berry, here, wasn't wearing any lipstick at all when she left to pick you up, and yours is looking a little smeared there, Q. Why, it's almost like you loaned Rachel your lipstick directly from your own mouth, but I know that can't be right, because you aren't that into that," she reminds Quinn pointedly before turning to Rachel, "and you're completely cock-whipped." Rachel squeaks indignantly, but Santana ignores her. "And I know one of you two bitches would have told me if you've been screwing like baby lesbian bunnies behind my back."

"We are not _screwing_," Rachel hisses disdainfully.

"We're in love," Quinn says with a soft smile, reaching over to take Rachel's hand in her own. It feels so good to say it out loud—to tell someone that they're together—especially when Rachel squeezes her hand and returns her smile.

Santana glances down at their joined hands, and then between them with a frown. She drops her hands from their shoulders and crosses her arms again. "Okay, you're both totally fucking with me now, right?" she asks warily, glancing at Rachel first. "This is all some elaborate setup to get back at me because you think I invaded your privacy or something."

"You rifled through all my drawers," Rachel reminds her testily. "And used my shampoo. And," she narrows her eyes, "is that my sweater?"

Santana puffs out a dismissive breath and turns to Quinn. "And you're obviously still pissed because I called you out on your passive-aggressive bullshit at Thanksgiving."

"You slapped me," Quinn reminds her irritably, "very, very hard. I'm expecting an apology for that, by the way."

Rachel whips her head from Santana to Quinn. "She slapped you? You didn't tell me that part."

"She slapped me first," Santana defends while Quinn just shrugs guiltily.

"I don't care," Rachel growls, poking Santana in the shoulder. "If you want to stay here even one more night, you'd better apologize to my girlfriend."

Quinn beams at Rachel, flushing with pleasure as she tugs Rachel closer and slips an arm around her waist. Santana's eyes widen. "Holy shit! You're not fucking around with me? You're actually together?"

"Did you seriously think we were playing a practical joke on you?" Quinn asks with a small frown. She knows it's probably a little surprising, but she'd actually thought that of all their friends, Santana would have been the one to suspect this—at least on Quinn's part. Looks like she was wrong.

"Hey, Hummel. Get your gay ass back out here," Santana demands loudly as she spins on her heel and stalks closer to Rachel's bedroom.

Kurt cautiously peeks his head out. "There's no need to shout, Santana," he reprimands, stepping away from the curtain and smoothing his shirt. "I can hear everything you're saying perfectly well."

"Is that," she sloppily waves behind her at Rachel and Quinn, "actually happening for real?"

"I can assure you that it is," he tells her, walking over to her and gently turning her around to look at Rachel and Quinn. "And has been, in one form or another, since October. You are currently witnessing the hard-fought, happy resolution of the most epic gay panic in history."

"Kurt!" Rachel snaps, even as Quinn holds her a little bit tighter in silent support.

Santana nods her head. "I guess Professor Mid-life Crisis makes a hell of a lot more sense now."

Quinn purses her lips to smother a smile, and Rachel groans a little as she buries her face into Quinn's shoulder. Kurt starts to laugh unabashedly, wrapping an arm around Santana's shoulders and squeezing. "Oh, sweetie, you've got it so very wrong." Santana looks so confused that Quinn can't help joining in Kurt's laughter, hugging Rachel close to her as she does.

The four of them eventually end up sprawled around the living room, sharing a bottle of wine as they talk. Once the initial shock wears off, Santana turns out to be unexpectedly sympathetic—or perhaps it shouldn't be so unexpected after her own coming out experience. There's some muttering about her otherwise awesome gaydar being on the fritz, but there's also an odd smile on her face every time she looks at Rachel and Quinn curled together on the futon that makes Quinn believe that she's genuinely happy for them. Of course, Santana wouldn't be Santana without needling them both a bit, and she's having fun thinking back over their convoluted history and pointing out all of the times they'd acted particularly gay for one another.

Santana is currently reminiscing about junior year of high school—she's already covered sophomore year, including Quinn's favorite artistic subject and the bit of blackmail on Quinn's behalf that earned Jacob Ben Israel a pair of Rachel's panties—and she laughingly reveals that Finn had told Puck who'd told her that Rachel had asked him what it was like to kiss Quinn. "I guess now you know first hand," Santana snickers, waggling her eyebrows at Rachel.

"Did you really ask him that?" Quinn questions softly, pushing aside her irritation that Finn apparently shared so many personal things about both Rachel _and Quinn_ with people he had no business sharing them with—like how Quinn had told him that he could cheat on her with anyone _but_ Rachel. And really, Quinn probably should have figured out that she was attracted to Rachel much sooner than she did.

Rachel meets her eyes, and she bites into her lip and nods. "I wanted to know if he saw fireworks with you."

Quinn has a very clear memory of being tangled up with Rachel on this very futon, staring down at her wild hair and dark eyes after having kissed her senseless and being told that the fireworks were pretty. A slow smile curls over her lips, and she whispers, "I only care that you see them."

"Every time," she murmurs with confidence, pulling Quinn down for a brief kiss.

"Wanky," Santana comments with a sly grin before her eyes go wide and gleam with unholy mischief. "Oh, please let me be the one to tell Finneffective that all of his exes are hot for the ladies now."

"No, Santana," Rachel refuses sharply.

"Not on this trip, anyway," Quinn mutters dejectedly. If it were up to her, they'd be telling Finn the minute their plane lands, and she couldn't care less what inappropriate things Santana might say.

"Not ever," Rachel corrects, lightly pinching Quinn's arm in warning. "When we eventually tell him, we'll do it tactfully."

"I can be tactful," Santana insists. Quinn, Rachel and Kurt all stare at her with varying degrees of skepticism until she tosses up her hands, admitting, "Okay, fine. For the record, I _can_ be tactful. I just choose not to be. The boy outed me in the middle of a crowded hallway. The least you can do is let me have this one little thing," she complains.

"And that was wrong of Finn," Kurt agrees, "but he needs to hear about Rachel and Quinn from Rachel and Quinn. When they're ready," he adds with a nod, and Rachel smiles at him gratefully. "And on that note, it's getting terribly late, and we all have to be up early tomorrow."

He rises from his chair and begins to collect the discarded wine glasses and the empty bottle. Santana makes a show of stretching, spreading her body across the far end of the futon and nudging Quinn's leg with her stocking-clad foot. "So, I guess there's zero chance of me getting to share that comfy bed, huh?"

Quinn pushes her foot away with an arrogant smirk. "Another reason for you to be jealous of me while you spend another night on this flea-market reject." She pats the cushion beside her in emphasis.

"Quinn," Rachel chastises, "please stop disparaging our furniture. And stop antagonizing Santana."

"Ha," Santana shouts, pumping her fist in triumph before pointing at Quinn. "In trouble with the little lady already."

Quinn glares at her.

"You're lucky Kurt and I are even letting you stay here, Santana," Rachel says, untangling herself from Quinn's arms before she stands. "Especially when I don't seem to recall hearing you apologize for slapping Quinn."

"Ha," Quinn echoes triumphantly, gracefully straightening her own body from the futon and sliding her arms around Rachel again—happy when Rachel melts into her.

Santana makes a face at them. "Please, she was hooking up with some old, married perv to forget about you," she tells Rachel. "You should be thanking me for knocking some sense into her."

"That won't be happening," Quinn informs her snippily.

"Goodnight, Santana," Rachel says with a sigh.

"Just try to keep the noise level down tonight. I needs my beauty sleep."

Rachel blushes. "As if we'd do anything with you and Kurt twenty feet away."

"Well," Quinn purrs with her mouth close to Rachel's ear. "I wouldn't say we won't do _anything_."

"I bought a box of earplugs during Quinn's last visit," Kurt chimes in as he breezes past them on his way from the kitchen to his bedroom. "I'll be happy to lend you a pair, Santana."

"Kurt," Rachel squeals indignantly while Santana laughs. Quinn feels the tips of her ears get hot, and she hides her face in Rachel's hair. She really didn't think they were that loud. They'd only fooled around a little bit—okay, _a lot_. Rachel shakes her head, peels Quinn's hands away from her body, and drags her into the bedroom without a backwards glance.

They're barely inside with the curtain drawn before Quinn wraps herself around Rachel again, capturing her lips in a heated kiss. Rachel moans quietly and presses closer. Quinn has never considered herself an overly sexual person. She'd always used sex as a means of control—a weapon to be wielded or a tool to get something she wanted—but her body has never craved physical contact purely for the sake of release. With Rachel, it's something different, and the strength of her physical reaction constantly takes her by surprise. She wants to touch and be touched—to take and be taken. Both her body and her heart are completely engaged, and it's overwhelming.

Her hands find their way under Rachel's blouse, dancing along the silky smooth skin of her back. She loves this—skin against skin—feeling the flex of muscles and the fine tremors that work through Rachel's heated body. One of Rachel's hand tangles into Quinn's hair, and the other finds her breast and begins to tease the nipple. Quinn groans and gently catches Rachel's plump lower lip between her teeth, giving it a tug before soothing it with her tongue.

Rachel struggles to catch her breath. Panting, "You're too good at that."

Quinn smirks down at her, despite the fact that her own body is thrumming with unsatisfied desire. "Just wait until I get you completely alone."

Rachel's eyes flutter, and she groans. "But that won't be until Friday at the earliest. I really wanted to spend Valentine's Day alone with you," she pouts.

"We could always skip the wedding and stay here," Quinn suggests, only half-joking.

Rachel drops her forehead onto Quinn's shoulder and sighs dejectedly, "We can't do that to Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury."

Quinn licks her lips. "We could spring for a hotel in Lima."

Rachel chuckles, meeting Quinn's eyes. "The thought had crossed my mind, but my fathers are expecting me to stay with them, and your mother is expecting you, and well, people might wonder why we're forsaking a free bed with our parents to spend money on a shared hotel room."

"And we can't have that," Quinn mutters, letting her arms fall away from Rachel's waist.

Rachel only holds on tighter. "Patience, remember?" she quietly prompts, and Quinn nods tersely, forcing a wan smile before she drops a quick peck to Rachel's lips. Rachel squeezes her one last time before she lets go, and they proceed to get ready for bed in relative silence.

Quinn steals a few glances at Rachel as she changes into shorts and a loose t-shirt, and she's pretty sure Rachel is checking her out in the mirror. They'd purposely teased one another the last time Quinn had stayed—still high off their mutual confessions of love—but the slight tension about going back home is still lingering in the air between them, successfully muting their amorous mood.

They slip into bed, and Rachel curls into her. "Are you very upset with me?" she whispers. "For wanting to keep us private for now?"

Quinn sighs, shifting on the mattress so their bodies curve together perfectly. "I'm not upset, Rachel. I'm…disappointed, I guess, and a little frustrated that we can't just relax and _be_ together without over-thinking everything."

Rachel chuckles softly in the darkness. "It's you and me, Quinn. Over-thinking everything is kind of a given."

Quinn smiles a little at that. "Look, I get it. You're being remarkably logical for once, and I'm being…"

"Surprisingly emotional?" Rachel finishes with an amused lilt.

Quinn considers this—how easily her otherwise guarded emotions are put on display for Rachel, and how unusually thoughtful Rachel always tries to be with everything relating to Quinn. "I guess we've been spending too much time together," she muses.

"Or not enough," Rachel counters, stroking her fingers in gentle circles over Quinn's hip.

"We _will_ be sneaking in a few hours of alone time somewhere in Lima," Quinn swears, "even if I have to lure your dads out of the house with fake Patti LuPone sightings."

The gentle touch on Quinn's hip turns into a playful slap. "Quinn Fabray, don't you dare! Patti is almost as sacred as Barbra in our household."

Quinn giggles, snuggling closer to Rachel and breathing in the faint scent of honeysuckle that clings to her skin. "I'll think of a way to get you alone," she murmurs happily.

"I'm certain you will. You're very resourceful."

Quinn hums in agreement, feeling the long day of classes and traveling and confessions catch up to her all of a sudden. "I love you," she whispers sleepily.

She closes her eyes and lets herself drift inside the warmth of Rachel's embrace with a sweetly whispered, "Goodnight," sounding in her ear.

She dreams of gardenias and fireworks.

The next thing Quinn becomes aware of is the clanking of the pipes, and she pries her eyes open to see that it's still dark, though the florescent lighting from the loft filters in around the drawn curtains. She stifles a groan—it feels like she's only had about ten minutes of sleep. Rachel is breathing evenly next to her, and Quinn suspects that she's probably grown immune to the noise. She lies there for a moment just enjoying the way their legs are tangled together beneath the sheets, and Rachel's hand has sneaked under her t-shirt to curve against the underside of her breast. She loves waking up like this.

Quinn carefully twists one arm behind her to reach blindly for her phone on the nightstand. She brings it close to her face and squints at the time. It's actually later than she thought, and she and Rachel have less than two hours to get showered and ready before they'll need to leave for the airport to make their eight o'clock flight.

The pipes go silent, and Quinn angles her body toward Rachel on the mattress, sweeping dark hair back from her face with gentle fingers. She leans closer and places a soft kiss to Rachel's cheek, her nose, her chin, and finally her lips—lips that curve into a faint smile against Quinn's mouth.

"Mmm…morning," Rachel rasps sleepily.

"Good morning," Quinn echoes, brushing her mouth across those tempting lips one more time.

Rachel's eyelids flutter open. "You're so much better than my alarm."

"I would hope so," Quinn says laughingly.

There's a metal scraping as the curtain is jerked open and light spills into the room. "Rise and shine, baby gays," Santana says with a sharp clap of her hands as she strides into the room. Rachel clumsily jerks away, and Quinn flinches in surprise, letting her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness as she glares at Santana, who is obviously fresh from the shower. "You've got ninety minutes until the taxi gets here, and nobody's waiting for your lazy asses."

Rachel growls a little as Santana pulls some clothes off the rack that they've been sharing. "Is that my robe?" she asks in annoyance, propping herself up on one elbow.

Santana shrugs. "You weren't using it."

"Because I was asleep!"

"Hey, it's not my fault Quinn wore you out last night," she counters with a smirk, draping her clothes over her arm and grabbing her hair dryer. Quinn feels her face heat, but she bites her tongue because she knows that anything she says will only provoke Santana to tease them more.

"We really need to have a serious discussion about boundaries."

Santana stalks to the edge of the bed with a deceptively sweet smile. "Okay, Rachel, let's discuss." In a flash, she leans down, grabs a fistful of sheet, and jerks it down. Rachel squeaks in protest, and Quinn makes a vain grab for it, but it slips through her fingers.

"Santana!" she snaps.

"I don't acknowledge boundaries. Discussion over," she announces, arching one dark eyebrow as she looks them over. "Oh, and for the record, this," she wags a finger between them, "would have been better if you were actually naked."

Rachel grunts and attempts to toss her pillow at Santana, who is already walking away, but it doesn't even clear the end of the mattress. "You're the worst roommate ever!"

Quinn throws her arm over her eyes and smiles—this is her life now, and she couldn't be happier.

They both manage to get ready with enough time to grab a quick cup of coffee and a piece of toast that Kurt has so thoughtfully made for them before they wrestle their luggage down to the sidewalk and into the waiting taxi. Quinn squeezes in between Rachel and Santana, while Kurt sits up front next to the driver. She tangles her fingers with Rachel's as the car jerks into motion, and she tries to tune out the conversation that Kurt and Rachel are having about the new guy in his life and how he feels about seeing Blaine again. She really doesn't want to think about how Rachel might feel when she sees Finn.

They arrive at the airport and get through security without any problems. Luckily, they managed to book a nonstop flight, and Quinn clutches at Rachel's hand for the entire ninety minutes until they're touching down in Columbus. She hates flying—it's a combination of her claustrophobia and a genuine fear of large metal objects falling from the sky and crashing to the earth at a thousand miles per hour. Her mother had driven her to New Haven in the fall, and she'd taken a bus back home for Thanksgiving. The last time she'd been on a plane was when New Directions had gone to New York for Nationals—Chicago had been a five hour bus trip—and Brittany had been nice enough to let Quinn nearly break her hand on both flights. This time, Rachel distracts her with soft words and the warmth of her body where it presses against Quinn from knee to shoulder.

Kurt doesn't want to trouble his father to pick them up at the airport, so he'd made arrangements, courtesy of Burt's credit card, to rent a car. Quinn is grateful for the extra two hours she gets with Rachel before they have to pretend that they're nothing more than friends. They cuddle in the backseat, occasionally chatting with Kurt and Santana as they occupy themselves on the drive.

About forty minutes outside of Lima, Rachel's phone sounds with the melody for 'The Scientist.' The smile that's been tattooed on her face all morning disappears as she glances down at the screen. Quinn's stomach churns unpleasantly when Rachel answers the call with a quiet, "Hello, Finn."

The car goes completely silent, and Quinn digs her nails into the door handle, clenching her other hand into a fist on her lap. "Our plane got in about an hour ago. We're driving back now," Rachel explains, darting her gaze over at Quinn and chewing on her lip as she listens to Finn's response. "No, I don't think that's a good idea, Finn." Rachel frowns, shaking her head. "Can't you just tell me over the phone?" She looks down at her lap and nervously tugs at the edge of her coat. "We are still friends, but," she snaps her mouth shut, squeezing her eyes closed and sighing raggedly. "Okay. Fine. I…I'll see you then."

Quinn stares hard at Rachel's profile—head bowed and eyes still closed. "What does _he_ want?" she asks more harshly than she intends.

"Seriously?" Santana laughs, turning around in the passenger seat to look at Quinn. "He wants what he always wants. _Rachel_." She cranes her head and scowls at Rachel. "Congratulations on lasting all of thirty seconds before you caved right into him."

Quinn glares at Santana. She's trying—God knows she's trying—to keep her jealousy and her temper in check. "Can you shut up?"

Rachel reaches across the seat, wrapping her hand around Quinn's closed fist and pulling her attention back. "He said that he needs to talk to me about something important before the wedding," she says.

"Sure he does," Santana mutters.

"My dad did mention that Finn has been acting odd for the last week," Kurt offers as an explanation.

Rachel frowns, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. "He did seem upset on the phone."

Quinn can hear the concern in her voice, and she slides her hand away from Rachel's touch. "So _of course_ you're going to see him," she huffs.

"I agreed to meet him at the Lima Bean at three o'clock," Rachel confirms softly, and Quinn grits her teeth. "Whatever else Finn and I have been to one another, we were friends first," Rachel reminds her gently, "and I'd really like us to be able to get back to that again."

Quinn exhales sharply, narrowing her eyes at Rachel's naivety. "He's not going to be satisfied only being your friend, Rachel. _I_ wasn't satisfied with that."

"Finn and I had our chance…_chances_," she clarifies with an sardonic smile, "but now," she leans closer, reaching up to stroke the backs of her fingers along Quinn's tense jaw, "we get to have _our _chance, Quinn. Finn is getting me for one cup of coffee. You get me forever."

"And I get to be sick from how nauseating you two are being," Santana complains.

Quinn kicks the back of her seat, even as Kurt says, "I think they're adorable."

"So if Finn is just your friend now," Quinn says carefully, still focused on Rachel, "and _I'm_ just your friend to everyone outside of this car, then there's no reason that I shouldn't be able to go with you. Just three old friends catching up over a cup of coffee."

Rachel drops her eyes, and Quinn's stomach drops because she knows that Rachel is going to come up with some excuse for why that can't happen. "Quinn…I…"

"I think that's the best idea ever," Santana interrupts gleefully, twisting around again. "Can I come, too? Because this version of that tired old triangle is so much more entertaining than the last two times you did this."

This time Rachel kicks the back of her seat with a growl that Quinn would probably find adorable under different circumstances. "Sheesh. Chill out," Santana grumbles, facing forward again. Kurt reaches over and pinches her arm, shooting her a warning look.

Quinn really wants to cry in frustration. She can deal with keeping their relationship on the down low. She can even deal with Rachel and Finn seeing each other again at the wedding. But she's not sure that she can deal with her girlfriend meeting her ex-fiancé for a goddamned coffee date when she knows that Finn is still in love with Rachel.

"Please just trust me," Rachel begs, grasping at her hand. Quinn almost believes that Rachel can read her mind in that moment. "Whatever Finn wants to talk about won't change anything between us, Quinn. You're the only person that I want now."

Quinn closes her eyes, wishing that the _now_ didn't feel like such a tenuous thing to hold on to.


	2. The Alarm Broke Us From Each Other

**Part II: The Alarm Broke Us From Each Other**

* * *

Rachel spots Finn the moment that she steps into the Lima Bean. She takes a breath, waiting for the old familiar flutters in her belly to return and exhaling in quiet relief when they don't. She has to resist the urge to dig out her phone and text Quinn in order to reassure her that she really doesn't feel any lingering urge to throw herself into her ex-fiancé's arms—though she's not certain that will do much to lift Quinn's sour mood.

Quinn had been stubbornly silent for the entire last half hour of their drive back to Lima, moodily staring out the window of the car. Rachel hates that she somehow keeps hurting Quinn despite her best intentions. She honestly doesn't want any unnecessary drama before the wedding, but unfortunately, her attempts to keep that from happening only seem to be causing more drama with Quinn—and that's the last thing that Rachel wants. What she really wants is more time—more time alone with Quinn so that their relationship can flourish and grow strong enough to withstand all the questions and potential disrespect that they'll be certain to receive once they go public. She really wishes that Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury had opted for a June wedding so that she and Quinn could have enjoyed their own honeymoon phase and come out to their friends and family at their own pace before coming back to Lima secure in their love for one another. Even now, after graduation, William Schuester is determined to ruin Rachel's life. Okay, so that isn't exactly fair—Rachel is the one ruining things with Quinn right now.

_It's only two days_, she reminds herself, buying a cup of coffee before she walks over and sits down across from Finn. _Two days, and then I'll fix everything._

"Thanks for coming to meet me," Finn mumbles with his head slightly bowed. "I thought that Brody guy was going to be with you. I didn't think you'd want to spend your first Valentine's Day apart.¹"

Rachel momentarily freezes, realizing that Finn has somehow managed to miss the memo that her brief and insignificant relationship with Brody is over. She'd assumed that Kurt would have mentioned it to him, but then she'd specifically asked him _not _to mention the Quinn portion of the story to anyone, so maybe he'd decided that it was easier to just say nothing at all. Rachel stares at Finn as she considers how to phrase the news in a way that won't start any uncomfortable conversations right now, and for the first time, she really _sees_ Finn. He looks awful.

"What's going on right now?" she asks with a frown, deciding to skip her complicated relationship status for the moment. "You look like you slept in those clothes and," she leans forward, touching his stubbled cheeks and turning his face to force him to meet her eyes, "you won't even look at me. ¹"

"I kissed Ms. Pillsbury,¹" he blurts out.

Rachel has to silently repeat the words in her head before they make sense. She sits back heavily in her chair and processes his confession. She kind of expects to feel a little sting of jealousy, but it doesn't come. She only feels surprise—and a little grossed out. What is the deal with everyone deciding that it's a good idea to hook up with their teachers? "Did she kiss you back?¹"

"No. She was totally freaked out by it," he admits, looking pale and a little sweaty. "I don't even know how it happened. We'd been spending all this time together…and she was there…and I just felt the need," he trails off uneasily. "And I kissed her, and I,¹" he stops, glancing away with an expression of sad confusion.

There's a little tug on Rachel's heart at seeing him like this, and she wishes that she could make him feel better. "Does Mr. Schuester know?¹" she asks softly, unconsciously reaching up to play with her necklace.

"I don't think so. I don't think she'd tell him, but maybe I should.¹"

"No," Rachel says quickly. "Don't. Just don't, okay?¹" She doesn't know exactly what's been going on here while she's been in New York, but she knows that Ms. Pillsbury has been in love with Mr. Schue for _years_. They're getting married tomorrow, and Finn's little..._whatever _shouldn't have to mess that up for either one of them. "Remember how you felt about Noah when you found out about him and Quinn," she reminds Finn, internally cringing at how easily she's using Quinn's past as an argument on the benefits of non-disclosure, but, "You kicked a chair.¹"

Finn huffs, leaning back and shouting up at the ceiling, "I'm the worst person in world!¹"

Everyone in the Lima Bean turns to look at him, and Rachel grimaces. "No, you're not," she reassures him. "What you did…it wasn't great, but I get it. You're confused and lonely." Rachel can surely sympathize with that after all the silly mistakes that she's made in the last few months. "I'm sure that just knowing that I'm moving on set you off.¹"

"Not everything has to do with you," he interrupts. Rachel slouches a little in her chair, nodding meekly when she realizes how egotistical that probably sounded. Finn sighs and whines, "Like...I don't know what to do.¹"

Rachel presses her lips together, suddenly feeling exhausted by this whole situation. She came here to meet Finn, hoping to rebuild their friendship despite the fact that it had upset Quinn, but instead she's falling right back into her old habit of being Finn Hudson's personal cheerleader. Frankly, she's a little disgusted with herself and with Finn for still expecting her to drop everything and rush to his side to guide him into making the right decisions.

"You always wanted to be an actor, right?" she asks, grabbing her purse and sliding her chair back. "Well, here's your chance to play the role of the supportive best man,¹" she tells him before she stands up and walks away.

Walking out on Finn doesn't feel as good as she thought it would, and she guiltily glances back over her shoulder to see him still sitting there with his head bowed. She hates seeing him so upset, but he's making his own life here in Lima, and she's making hers in New York—and she's _happy_. She's happy, and she's in love with Quinn, and she can't keep feeling responsible for Finn because they aren't together anymore. So she keeps walking, but she does still care about him—he was her best friend before he was her lover—and she wants him to be happy, too.

Rachel slides into her car—borrowed from her dad for the afternoon—and digs out her cell phone. Her call goes to voicemail, just like the the one she'd made before she went inside the Lima Bean, and the one before she'd left her house.

"Damn it, Quinn," she growls, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. She jams the key into the ignition and starts the car, pulling out into the dreary streets of Lima.

It takes less than ten minutes to drive to the Fabray house, and she parks her car at the end of the driveway and stares up at the sprawling Victorian. When they'd dropped Quinn off earlier, her mother had been here to greet them, so Rachel had only been able to squeeze her hand and quietly promise to call her later. Quinn had forced a thin smile—Rachel knows it was forced because she's very well acquainted with what Quinn's real smile looks like now—and thanked Kurt for the ride before letting her mother pull her into a hug. It had hurt more than Rachel imagined it could to watch Quinn disappear into her house without a backward glance.

And then Santana had cursed at Rachel in Spanish and English and told her, "Don't you fucking dare let that flop ex of yours screw up what you've got going with Quinn."

"I won't," Rachel vows into the silence of her car, just as she'd sworn to Santana earlier.

Drawing in a deep breath, Rachel gets out of the car and marches up the driveway until she's standing in front of the door. She lifts her hand and presses the doorbell, hoping that Quinn is actually home to answer. Although, if she is home, then she's just been ignoring Rachel's phone calls—so maybe Rachel doesn't want her to be home at all. Maybe it would be better if Quinn is out with some of their other friends and is unable to take Rachel's call because she's too busy catching up with Mercedes or Brittany or No—no, catching up with Noah or Sam would _not_ be better _at all_. She's possibly aware she's being slightly hypocritical when she's just come from seeing Finn, but she doesn't actually care about that at the moment because she really just wants to talk to…

"Quinn," she breathes in relief when the door finally swings open.

Quinn sighs, crosses her arms, and leans her hip against the door frame. Her hair is scraped back into a messy ponytail, and she's wearing red sweatpants and a faded McKinley t-shirt. She looks beautiful. She always looks beautiful—even when she's frowning.

"How was your _date_?" she asks bitingly.

"Please don't be like this," Rachel pleads gently, twisting her fingers together in front of her.

Quinn's jaw tightens, and her eyes start to glisten suspiciously. She glances away. "So what did Finn want?"

Rachel shifts her weight, contemplating whether or not she should tell Quinn about Finn and Ms. Pillsbury. It really isn't her place, but at the same time, Quinn is her girlfriend, and she really doesn't want Finn's little issue to drive a bigger wedge between them than it already has. "Can I come in?"

"My mother is home," Quinn tells her. "We don't want her to get the wrong idea about us."

Rachel deflates completely, letting her shoulders sag and bowing her head. "I suppose I deserve that to some degree."

Quinn exhales harshly and glances over her shoulder before she steps outside and quietly closes the door behind her, crossing her arms again and rubbing her palms over her biceps to stave off the cold. "You really don't," she concedes. "I'm being a bitch."

Rachel looks at her with a frown. "You're going to freeze to death," she chastises, rubbing her own hands over Quinn's arms to warm her. "Go back inside. We can talk tomorrow."

"No," Quinn grunts, taking Rachel's hand and dragging her down the driveway at a brisk walk. She stops at Rachel's car and opens the backdoor, sliding inside and dragging Rachel in behind her before reaching across her body and slamming the door shut.

"This is hardly any warmer," Rachel points out.

"But it is more private," Quinn says, jerking open Rachel's coat and burrowing inside until her arms are wrapped around Rachel's waist and she's practically sitting in her lap. Rachel can't really complain at the intimate position, and her own arms curl around Quinn.

"I thought you were upset with me."

Quinn sighs tiredly against her. "I'm upset with Finn," she grumbles. "And a little with you...but mostly Finn."

Rachel chuckles, hugging Quinn close. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have agreed to meet him. In retrospect, it really wasn't necessary."

Quinn huffs a little. "What did he want?" she asks again.

"I'm not entirely certain," she admits. "Support, I suppose. Advice. Perhaps he just wanted someone to tell him that he isn't a terrible person."

Quinn leans back with a wary frown. "What did he do this time?"

Rachel sighs, shifting into a more comfortable position—well, as comfortable as she can be in the backseat of a car without actually letting go of Quinn. "Finn may have…kissed Ms. Pillsbury."

Quinn's eyes grow wide. "He did what?"

"You can't tell anyone, Quinn," she instructs urgently. "I don't think it really meant anything, and it doesn't seem that Ms. Pillsbury reciprocated the kiss at all, so I told Finn it was best to just keep it to himself."

Quinn stares at her in silence for a few moments before nodding slightly. "How do you feel about it?"

Rachel shrugs. "In most cases, of course, I advocate full disclosure, but Finn telling Mr. Schuester about an impulsive error in judgment on his part will only serve to hurt two people who are on the cusp of committing their lives to one another purely for the sake of easing his own guilty conscience."

Quinn smiles a little. "I actually agree with you about that, but," she pauses and takes a breath, "I'm asking how you feel about Finn kissing another woman."

"He can kiss whomever he wants," Rachel answers honestly. Quinn doesn't look convinced, and while it bothers Rachel to some degree that Quinn doesn't trust her, she supposes it's to be expected when at this time last year, Rachel had been bound and determined to marry Finn. "Please believe me when I tell you that I don't want him back."

"I'm trying to," she says softly. "It's just a little hard when you still drop everything to go be with him the minute he calls you." She shakes her head and stares out the window over Rachel's shoulder. "He used to do the same thing for you when we were together."

Quinn's eyes are glistening, and Rachel feels the weight of regret heavy on her chest until she can barely draw a breath. She'd made Quinn feel like a poor second choice—twice over. It's completely unacceptable. "I'm so sorry," she rasps, tightening her arms around Quinn. "I love you so much, Quinn. I never want you to feel like I'm putting Finn before you."

"He told me you were tethered," Quinn whispers with a tear streaking over her cheek.

"Tethered?" Rachel repeats in confusion, lifting her right hand to brush away Quinn's tear with the pad of her thumb. "When did he say that?"

Quinn chokes on a sad laugh. "When he was breaking up with me junior year. He thinks you're tied together...that you'll always find your way back to one another."

Rachel has to admit that, for a long time, she'd believed that too—she had planned to marry him after all. It's only recently that she's realized how much those ties had been suffocating her. She and Finn had pulled at one another in a constant tug-of-war, each trying to gain their own ground but never allowing the other to drop the rope. It was exhausting. Rachel doesn't want to be tethered anymore—she wants to race down the path to her future with the certainty that she'll always have the balance to keep her from stumbling. That's what Quinn is to her—her balance; her perfect complement; her _bashert_.

"It doesn't matter what Finn thinks," Rachel insists, curling her hand around the nape of Quinn's neck and gazing deeply into those expressive, hazel eyes, "because I've found my way to _you_, Quinn, and I'm exactly where I belong."

Quinn expels a shaky breath before leaning forward to capture her mouth in an ardent kiss. Rachel can feel her anxiety fall away. Quinn's tongue teases across Rachel's lower lip, seeking entrance, and Rachel happily greets it with her own. She vaguely considers that they probably shouldn't be doing this in the backseat of her dad's car while it's parked in Judy Fabray's driveway, but at least the tinted windows afford them some level of privacy—and frankly, she's too happy to have Quinn back in her arms with her body pressed so deliciously against Rachel.

She can feel the rigid peaks of Quinn's nipples brushing against hers, and she doubts the lingering chill in the air has anything to do with either of their conditions. She slips one hand under Quinn's t-shirt and groans at the confirmation that Quinn isn't wearing a bra. She curls her hand to match the curve of Quinn's breast and begins to gently massage the flesh. Quinn makes the most amazing sound and shifts restlessly, throwing a leg over Rachel's lap as she tangles her hands into her hair and attacks her mouth as though it's her single-minded mission to drive Rachel to the brink with just her lips and tongue and teeth. With Quinn, kissing is truly an art form.

When Quinn finally drags her mouth away, they're both panting, the windows are more than a little fogged, and Rachel is more than a little wet and aching with desire. "My mom has to work tomorrow," Quinn husks in a sultry tone, and Rachel shivers in pleasure. "Come over in the morning. I'll make you breakfast, and we can…not eat it."

Rachel clenches her thighs together and stifles a moan—the untapped power of Quinn Fabray's voice absolutely astounds her. "Are…aren't we supposed to meet Santana and Kurt for brunch?"

"Stop being so conscientious," Quinn admonishes, ducking her head to nip at Rachel's throat, and this time Rachel doesn't even try to hold back her appreciative moan. "We can be late," Quinn purrs, dancing the tip of her tongue over Rachel's thrumming pulse. "They won't care."

Rachel groans, tugging Quinn closer. "Mmmkay," she mumbles, tipping Quinn's chin up until that magical mouth is moving against hers again. It's a long time later before Quinn finally stumbles out of the car and races up her driveway, leaving Rachel a quivering mess sprawled across her backseat.

_xx_

When Rachel arrives at the Fabray house the next morning, she's holding a freshly cut bouquet of red roses. It's horribly cliché, but she doesn't care. She'd always wanted someone to give her roses on Valentine's Day, and while she'd still prefer to receive them, giving them to Quinn is the next best thing. She laughs a little as she presses the doorbell, thinking that even though she and Finn had been engaged last February, he still hadn't given her any flowers. She had certainly appreciated the serenade at the time, but in retrospect, Rachel finds it amusingly premonitory that Quinn had been the one singing her a cheesy semi-love song and escorting her around the courtyard while Finn had been nowhere in sight. Okay, so Joe, Sam and Mercedes had technically been singing too, but for some reason, Rachel only seems to remember Quinn with any real clarity.

Unlike the day before, this time Quinn opens the door wearing a pretty, flowered dress and a smile. The smile gets even more beautiful when she sees the roses. "Happy Valentine's Day," Rachel murmurs with a shy grin as she takes a tiny step across the threshold.

Quinn bites her lip and reaches out to brush her fingers over one of the perfect buds, bending down to inhale the sweet scent. "They're beautiful," she whispers, taking Rachel's arm and pulling her the rest of the way inside. She closes the door behind them and gently pushes Rachel back into to the cool oak before attacking her mouth in a sensual assault. Rachel grips the roses more tightly, trying to keep them from being smashed between the press of their bodies. Quinn finally allows her to catch her breath, pulling away with a sexy smirk and a husky, "Happy Valentine's Day, Rach."

"Mmmhmm," Rachel hums dazedly.

"Let me put these in water," Quinn offers with traces of laughter in her voice, taking the roses from Rachel and making her way to the kitchen with an exaggerated sway to her hips. Rachel swallows thickly as she helplessly follows along after her girlfriend.

Her body is buzzing with arousal—it's been buzzing for the last two days, really—and her head is spinning with possibilities. They have several hours until they have to get ready for the wedding, and they're alone in Quinn's house, and Rachel really, really wants to explore the potential in this very enticing situation. Her footsteps falter when she reaches the kitchen, seeing the little table set for two with a heart covered tablecloth and a single rose in a vase standing in the center. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with buttery pancakes fills the air.

"You cooked me breakfast," Rachel says in stunned surprise. She hadn't thought that Quinn was being serious yesterday.

Quinn glances back over her shoulder with a bashful smile as she arranges the roses in a vase. "It is our first Valentine's Day together, and I know it's not much, but I wanted to do something to celebrate. I already texted Santana and Kurt and told them we wouldn't be able to make brunch." She places the flowers on the countertop in front of the window, nervously biting into her lip as she gazes at Rachel from under her lashes. "I hope that's okay."

Rachel wonders if it's possible to fall a little more in love with the same person everyday, because she really thinks it's happening with Quinn. Every conversation, every expression, every gesture—no matter how small or otherwise insignificant—touches Rachel in new and unexpected ways. "It's per…" she begins, cutting herself off quickly as the soft melody of "Somewhere" fills the room from some unknown location and catches her attention. "Is that Barbra?" she gasps, pressing a hand over her fluttering heart.

"I made a playlist," Quinn admits with a nod.

Until this moment, Kurt has been the only person in Rachel's life with whom she could share her appreciation for the perfection of Barbra. In her three years with Finn—give or take—he would complain every time Rachel tried to play something by her idol and then sulk until she would inevitably give in and turn it off. That Quinn would make her a playlist completely unprompted…

Rachel closes the scant distance between them in five brisk steps, wraps her arms around Quinn's waist, and kisses her. A little hiss of surprise puffs against Rachel's lips before Quinn's hands brush over Rachel's back, skimming down until her fingers curve to match the contour of Rachel's ass and gently knead the flesh. Rachel groans in pleasure and presses closer, pushing Quinn back against the counter. For a fleeting moment, she considers how easy it would be to get carried away—to slide her hand between their bodies and slip it under Quinn's dress—but Judy Fabray's kitchen is possibly not the most romantic place for a passionate liaison, so Rachel reluctantly drags her mouth away from those talented lips.

"You are such an amazing girlfriend," she murmurs reverently.

Quinn chuckles breathlessly—eyes still closed in pleasure. "I think you're the only person to ever say that to me."

"You've obviously dated unappreciative morons up to this point."

Quinn laughs. "I'm not going to argue with you. Just remember that you almost married one of those unappreciative morons."

Rachel frowns. "Well, I didn't," she defends weakly, feeling a bit guilty at her own thoughtless words. Finn certainly has had his moments, but he's generally a good guy.

"Lucky me," Quinn whispers with a grin, and Rachel silently thinks that they're both pretty damn lucky.

They sit down to enjoy the breakfast that Quinn made for them while they talk about their respective visits with their parents. Rachel's fathers were happy to see her last night, pumping her for information about New York, auditions, friends, and potential lovers—not that they were eager to hear every intimate detail of that last item, but they were certainly curious if the sparkle in her eyes was a sign that she'd met someone new. She'd been so tempted to tell them about Quinn, but she isn't quite prepared for the questions that she'll have to answer.

Quinn complains a little about her mother—they don't exactly have the kind of easy, open relationship that Rachel has with her parents. Judy doesn't know anything about the predatory older (married!) professor that Quinn had dated, or the handful of co-eds that had followed, or (most especially) Rachel. Quinn admits that, for as much as she doesn't want to hide her relationship with Rachel, her mother is the one person she isn't eager to tell.

"I just don't know how she'll handle this. I'm eighteen, and I have access to my trust fund, so I won't be completely screwed if she disowns me over this, but," she shrugs, tracing a blunt fingernail around the edge of her coffee cup, "I kind of like having a mom again. It'll suck to lose that."

Rachel reaches across the table and takes Quinn's hand. "I'm here for you, no matter what happens. You're not alone, Quinn."

Quinn lifts their joined hands to her lips and presses a kiss to Rachel's knuckles. "That means more to me than you can know," she murmurs, and Rachel sinks into Quinn's expressive eyes until Quinn stands, still holding Rachel's hand, and says, "Dance with me?"

Rachel's brows furrow as she gazes up at Quinn. "Here?"

"Well, I'd obviously prefer a ballroom with a live band," Quinn drawls, tugging Rachel up from her chair, "but since that won't be happening today, I'll have to settle for this."

She pulls Rachel into a loose embrace, urging her into a slow dance to the strains of Barbra Streisand and Bryan Adams crooning "I've Finally Found Someone." Rachel sighs, effortlessly following the sway of Quinn's body. She doesn't say anything—just enjoys the graceful, fluid way that Quinn moves. She's always loved watching Quinn let go and surrender her body to the music, and dancing _with_ her is even better. Rachel wishes that she could promise Quinn a dance at the reception, but she just can't yet.

A playful grin curls Quinn's lips, and she steps back, lifting her arms to twirl Rachel around before pulling her back into position without missing a beat. Rachel is not nearly as polished, stumbling a little as she attempts to follow Quinn's lead and giggling at her own clumsiness. "That's not fair, I wasn't expecting that."

"Life is full of surprises," Quinn warns with a sexy smirk, twirling her again, but stopping her halfway through the spin with a gentle hand on her side before she presses the front of her body against Rachel's back and pulls their joined hands down over Rachel's stomach. "You have to learn to go with the flow," she husks against Rachel's ear.

Rachel shivers, leaning back against Quinn. Their bodies are still swaying together, but Quinn's lips are nibbling her throat, and her right hand is sliding up to tease her breast through her clothes. Rachel moans and presses back into Quinn. "That's _really_ not fair," she rasps.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Rachel groans, "No," still pressing one hand over Quinn's on her belly—where that ever present flame is building again—and reaching the other back to curl around Quinn's thigh. She lets her head tip farther to the side to grant Quinn's lips free reign to her throat. Quinn really is far too good at arousing her. Rachel is currently attempting to calculate how much time they'll actually need to get ready for the wedding and drive to the church and whether or not a slight detour to Quinn's bedroom will significantly impede their schedule, but she's finding it far too difficult to think beyond what Quinn's mouth and hands are doing to her.

She doesn't know what it means that Quinn can stir this wantonness in her so easily. Sex has always been so intrinsically connected with love and romance in her mind that she'd never paid much attention to her body's physical reactions independent of her emotional attachments. She'd been in love with Finn, so of course she'd enjoyed the closeness with him, but she's beginning to realize that she'd been more or less indifferent to the actual act of sex. With Quinn, Rachel is so blissfully aware of and aroused by every touch, every kiss, every word, and every look. Her body _reacts_—it responds and _demands_. She's frighteningly close to ignoring all of their prior commitments (and the fact that they're still standing in Judy Fabray's kitchen) and just giving into those demands.

The sudden muffled chorus of "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" that plays over Barbra's voice works like a slushy to the face for Rachel. Her body jerks at the unpleasant intrusion of reality, and Quinn groans as she lifts her head. "Is that your phone?"

Rachel sighs raggedly and nods, but she doesn't make any move to dig out her phone from the pocket of her coat where it hangs on the back of the chair. She knows exactly who it is—she just changed the ringtone last night.

"Are you gonna answer it?"

"No."

"It's Finn, isn't it?" Quinn guesses correctly, releasing her hold on Rachel and depriving her of the wonderful heat that had been engulfing her body. "That's just perfect," she mutters, not waiting for Rachel's confirmation. Instead she paces over to the kitchen table and begins to clean up their plates.

Rachel watches her in confusion. "I didn't ask him to call me," she defends—not that she needs to defend _anything_.

"I didn't imply that you had," Quinn says coolly as she takes the plates to the sink.

"But you're obviously annoyed," Rachel points out, grabbing their coffee cups and following her.

Quinn glances at her and rolls her eyes. "He's kind of a mood killer, Rachel."

Rachel sets the cups down by the sink and sags against the counter, thankful that at least her phone has gone silent. "I'm sorry." She's more than a little frustrated at being interrupted in the middle of—well, in the middle of far more desirable activities. Finn has the worst timing imaginable.

"It's not your fault," Quinn dismisses, turning her attention back to rinsing the syrup-covered dishes.

Rachel worries her lip as she watches Quinn work. "Thank you for breakfast," she murmurs, hoping to shift the mood back closer to where it was before her phone went off.

Quinn's lips curve. "You don't have to thank me for that. I enjoy cooking for you, which is a good thing, since you're pretty useless in the kitchen."

Rachel releases an indignant squeak, lightly pushing Quinn's shoulder. "I'll have you know that I'm getting much better at not burning things."

"Like water?" Quinn teases, flicking her wet fingers in Rachel's direction and sending a few droplets of water onto her cheek.

Rachel gasps, brushing her fingers over her cheek as Quinn laughs and turns off the water. "You're terrible," she accuses with a pout.

"No." Quinn leans closer—her lips hovering scant inches from Rachel's. "I'm _amazing_…remember?"

Rachel can almost taste the flavor of honey that always clings Quinn's lips—until Taylor Swift rudely interrupts the moment once again.

"Unbelievable," Quinn growls, pulling away and directing a deadly glare at Rachel's coat.

"Ignore it," Rachel begs, reaching up to cup Quinn's cheek.

Quinn scoffs. "He'll just keep calling until you answer."

"I'm sure he'll give up eventually." As if on cue, the phone goes silent again, and Rachel flashes Quinn a smile. "See? Now if I recall, you were about to be amazing," she prompts, guiding Quinn's lips back to hers. Quinn sighs against her mouth, kissing her languidly.

Rachel's phone trills again—this time with an abbreviated _I'm telling you, I'm telling you_ that announces a new text message—and Quinn's teeth bite into Rachel's lip a little roughly. She winces, but she doesn't say anything when Quinn turns away and stares into the sink. "Just answer it," she says tiredly.

"I'm not putting Finn before you," Rachel stubbornly insists. Her phone trills again.

Quinn tips her head back, staring up at the ceiling. "Oh, my God!" She spins away and paces to the chair, digging her hand into Rachel's coat pocket and pulling out the phone. "Here," she says, holding out the phone to Rachel.

Rachel glares at the device when it trills for the third time in Quinn's hand. "I'll just turn it off," she decides, reaching for the phone.

"Then he'll probably call all of your friends to try to track you down or stake out your house. You might as well see what he wants, Rachel." Quinn tells her with a frown.

She drops her chin in defeat, touching the screen and reading over the texts. She grimaces at the atrocious text speak that Finn still insists on using.

_**Where r u?**_

_**Need 2 talk 2 u**_

_**Come 2 hs aditorm pls. Need 2 cu b4 the wedng. Need ur help.**_

"Well?" Quinn asks expectantly, arms crosses tightly beneath her breasts.

Rachel puffs out a frustrated breath. "He wants me to meet him in the auditorium. Apparently he needs my help with something."

Quinn purses her lips, averting her eyes. "You should go. Finn _needs_ you, after all."

The phone vibrates in Rachel's hand, signaling another text.

_**R u gonna answr**_

Rachel growls under her breath and fires off a text.

_**I'm sorry. I can't make it. You'll be fine. I have faith in you. See you at the wedding. ~R.**_

She turns off her phone before Finn can text or call again and tosses it onto the table. "There. I told him that I can't make it. Can we please forget about Finn now?" she asks, running her hands over Quinn's tense shoulders.

"He's making that kind of difficult." Quinn meets Rachel's eyes with a critical expression. "Maybe he wouldn't be constantly calling you to meet him if he knew you were in a relationship."

"I doubt it. I mean, he already thinks I'm with Brody."

Rachel realizes immediately that it was the exact wrong thing to say. Quinn's eyes grow cold, and she shrugs away Rachel's touch. "Why does he think that, Rachel?" she questions harshly.

"I…he knows I was kind of dating him before," Rachel stutters. "No one ever told him we'd broken up, and I…I thought it would be easier..."

Quinn throws her hands up in the air. "Of course you did! Because it's all about what's easier for you, isn't it? It's perfectly okay to let Finn think you're dating Brody Weston, but telling him you're with me is too much drama."

"If you can't see difference," Rachel begins defensively.

"Oh, I see it perfectly," Quinn hisses. "You tell me that I'm not your dirty little secret, but you sure as hell know exactly how to make me feel like I am."

"That's not…I didn't," Rachel tries to argue, but she doesn't really have any excuses. She's taking the path of least resistance because she doesn't want to deal with the truth right now. "I'm sorry, Quinn," she whispers tearfully.

Quinn shakes her head sadly. "You know what the worst part is? I love you enough to let you play this game with me because I actually believe you when you tell me that it's temporary."

"It is," Rachel stresses, wiping her tears. "I _swear_ it is, Quinn. Look, I know I'm not handling any of this in the best way...but you said you could be patient with me."

Quinn exhales a shaky breath and runs her hands through her hair, pushing it back behind her ears. "Yeah, well, it's a little harder than I thought it would be when I find out that you'd rather use Brody as a beard," she spits, causing Rachel's cheeks to heat with shame, "than tell Finn any part of the truth. Does he even know that you're with me right now? Spending the morning with your _friend_, Quinn?"

Rachel drops her gaze to the floor, twisting her fingers together. "N-no."

Quinn nods, firmly setting her jaw and crossing her arms again. "I guess it doesn't really matter who you're with, does it?" she mutters. "Finn thinks you're involved with Brody, and he still expects you drop everything and go running to him."

Rachel's head jerks up, and she takes an urgent step forward, resting her hand on Quinn's forearm. "But I'm not running anywhere! I'm here with you."

"Behind closed doors," Quinn reminds her tightly.

Rachel clutches at her arm. "Just for a little while," she whispers raggedly, struggling to keep her composure. She hates seeing that distant look in Quinn's eyes.

Quinn sighs in resignation. "Look, I don't want to argue with you anymore about this. We keep going in circles. You don't want to tell anyone else about us right now, and I get that, but lying about us _bothers_ me, and you _know _that. But I know I'm not going to change your mind, so...let's just try to get through the rest of the day. Okay?"

Her tone is even, but there's an underlying edge to it that lets Rachel know that she's still upset. Rachel wants to fix everything between them right now—promise Quinn anything she wants—but then she remembers Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury and that this is _their_ day, and it shouldn't be overshadowed by the romantic entanglements of their former students. So she nods in silent agreement, biting into the inside of her cheek to keep her composure and practically falls into Quinn to hug her fiercely. "I love you," she whispers against her ear, burying her nose in Quinn's hair and breathing in the calming scent of citrus.

She feels Quinn's body relax in increments against her until Quinn returns the embrace, breathing, "I love you, too," and Rachel silently repeats her mantra. They'll be okay—as soon as they get out of Lima.

* * *

¹_Glee 4x14, "I Do"_


	3. The Poem Of My Life

**Part III: The Poem Of My Life**

* * *

The wedding is a disaster.

Rachel huffs and crosses her arms on the table at which she's currently sitting (_alone!), _glaring out at the reception that's going on around her even though the wedding didn't. She still can't believe that Ms. Pillsbury left Mr. Schuester at the altar. Granted, weddings are horribly stressful events—Rachel knows from experience. Even thinking of her own aborted wedding makes her stomach churn with nausea. Her eyes automatically seek out Quinn—a visual reassurance that she's here and healthy and whole—but Quinn is currently at the bar, having a drink with Santana. Rachel scowls, clenching her hands into fists at the sight of them being all…all…_flirty_! It doesn't matter that she knows it's all just a coping mechanism for Santana's heartache over Brittany and Quinn's frustration with Rachel—she still wants to claw Santana's eyes out.

Her perfect morning with Quinn had quickly devolved after Finn's text messages, and by the time they'd finally left for the church, Quinn's annoyance with the veiled state of their relationship was palpable. Kurt and Santana had immediately noticed the tension between them, but while Kurt had flashed Rachel a sympathetic smile, Santana had crossed her arms and scowled at her for not being able to fix things with Quinn. It didn't help that as soon as they'd parked the car and gotten out, a panicked Finn had been right there to pull Rachel aside and ramble about not knowing what song to sing for the best man speech, leaving a clearly irritated Quinn to drag Santana into the church and stake out a seat near the back without any regard to saving a place for Rachel.

Kurt had wandered off with Blaine somewhere, and Rachel had been forced to talk Finn down on her own before sitting in the front of the church where she couldn't even see Quinn without twisting her body around and craning her neck—which she had done several times. Then Ms. Sylvester had shown up in a wedding dress and gleefully informed Mr. Schue that his bride had taken a powder. Now Rachel is stuck alone at the reception, watching Santana drown her Brittany sorrows while Quinn plays the role of supportive friend.

She shouldn't be upset. This is what she wanted, after all—for the two of them to project the appearance that nothing has changed while they attend the wedding. Except the wedding never happened, and Rachel is screwing up her relationship with Quinn for nothing. No, she's screwing up her relationship because she's afraid of what people will think—people who don't really have any influence over her new life in New York. She really is an idiot.

She pulls her gaze away from Quinn and surveys the room again, noticing Finn sitting alone and staring dejectedly at the stage where Blaine and Kurt are singing a duet. He looks so sad and ridden with guilt, and she can't help empathizing with him. She knows that he feels responsible for what happened today, but Rachel has a feeling that there must have been more going on with Ms. Pillsbury than a single, unexpected kiss with Finn. She casts a furtive glance in Quinn's direction before she pushes up from the table and makes her way over to Finn, carefully settling into the chair next to him.

"You know what happened today isn't your fault, right?¹" she says gently.

"How would you know?¹" he mutters with downcast eyes.

"I've seen every runaway bride movie that there is, and I know that when the bride runs away, it's never because of a random kiss. It's because she knows deep down inside that it isn't right,¹" she reassures him with a soft smile. She briefly considers how true that was in regards to their own ill-fated wedding. Rachel can admit now that her reluctance to go ahead with the ceremony until Quinn arrived had been more a result of her own misgivings than a desperate need to have Quinn there—although that had certainly been a factor. The truth is, had she really been ready to marry Finn that day, she would have.

Finn doesn't look entirely convinced. "Come on," she urges, giving a friendly push to his arm, "stop moping over here and try to have a little fun with your friends."

"You're one to talk. You've been avoiding everyone, too."

"Not by choice," Rachel mumbles.

Finn smiles that crooked smile that Rachel used to find so charming once upon a time. "Hey, you wanna dance?" he asks with a flicker of hope in his eyes for the first time today. Rachel hates to have to snuff that out, but she really doesn't think it would be a good idea to dance with him.

Her eyes dart around the room as she struggles to think up a viable excuse, settling for, "I'm sorry, my dance instructor at NYADA strongly discourages any non-sanctioned dancing on the grounds that it could hinder my training," and Finn's face twists in confused disappointment. "But look, Mike and Mercedes are over there." She points across the room where their friends are laughing and enjoying themselves. "Why don't we go over and catch up? I haven't talked to them in months."

"Uh, okay, I guess," Finn says with a small frown. Rachel flashes a smile—she hopes he doesn't realize that it's one of her show smiles—and slaps her palms against her thighs before she stands. She makes a beeline for Mike and Mercedes without looking back to make sure Finn is following her. She really would like to find out what they've been up to. She'd only talked to Mercedes for a few minutes before the ceremony-that-wasn't, and she hasn't had a chance to talk to Mike at all since—wow, since they'd graduated! She really has been off in her own little world in New York.

Fifteen minutes isn't really enough time to make up for months of silence, but it is enough time for Finn and Mike to get involved in a discussion about college basketball that Rachel couldn't care less about. She quietly excuses herself when Unique comes over to talk to Mercedes, and she heads for the bar where Quinn and Santana are still engaged in underage drinking. Quinn and alcohol tend to have unpredictable results—although she supposes her own track record certainly isn't above reproach.

Rachel glides up to the bar in time to hear Santana ask the bartender to, "Hit me with a Mojito, hermosa, and then you can hit me with your phone number." The bartender—a very pretty brunette—rolls her eyes and turns away to mix Santana's drink, muttering something about overeager Don Juanitas. Santana either doesn't hear her, or isn't at all discouraged by it, because she unabashedly ogles the woman's backside encased in formfitting black tuxedo pants.

Quinn grins around the edge of her wineglass and rolls her eyes. "I'm amazed that women aren't just throwing their phone numbers at you with lines like that."

"Bitch, you wish you had half my swag. Instead, you're stuck with half a woman."

"Hey!" Rachel growls, pulling their attention to her—well, Quinn's attention. Santana only gives her a judgmental once over before returning her admiring gaze to the bartender.

"Shouldn't you be off somewhere rebuilding Finn's self-esteem?" Quinn asks coolly.

Rachel bristles at the tone and crosses her arms. "You know what, that's," she begins irritably, stopping herself before she says something that she'll regret. "Fine. Yes, I did offer a few friendly words of support," she concedes, "but please remember that you're the one who walked away and left me alone with him at the church."

"It was either that or claim you as mine right there in the parking lot," she explains lowly, careful to keep her voice down. "I chose the less _dramatic_ option."

"Good thing, too," Santana chimes in, swirling her freshly made Mojita around in her glass. "Nobody wants to see you two get your freak on."

Rachel ignores her, taking a half-step closer to Quinn. "Can we please find somewhere private to talk?"

Even as she asks, Sue Sylvester's voice booms out through the speakers, calling for all the pathetic, single women to gather around for the tossing of the bouquet. Quinn shakes her head, sets her glass down on the bar, and smiles ruefully. "Later, Rachel. I don't want to miss my chance at that bouquet. After all, as far as anyone knows, I'm a pathetic, single woman, aren't I?"

"Quinn, no," Rachel whimpers, reaching for her arm, but Quinn shrugs off her touch and grabs Santana's hand instead. Santana barely has time to put her drink down before she's being dragged away from the bar and to the front of the small crowd that's gathering.

Rachel wants to cry as she watches them laugh together, stumbling into one another as they jockey for the best position. It feels a little like high school all over again, in those days when she'd hovered on the outskirts, watching the popular girls smile and laugh and have fun together—only now one of those girls is the woman that she's in love with, and this feeling is the same one she'd had watching Finn be with Quinn when all Rachel had wanted was to be the one standing next to him. Now she wants to be the one standing next to _Quinn_.

She's starting to really hate weddings and everything that they entail—especially February weddings. There's absolutely no reason that she and Quinn should be fighting right now other than the fact that they're both chronically and malignantly stubborn. Rachel sets her jaw and squares her shoulders, marching over to the group of single ladies and hovering in the back as she waits for the stupid bouquet toss to be over so she can corner her girlfriend and drag her somewhere private.

Sue launches the bouquet into the air like a missal, sending it sailing over the heads of everyone in front of Rachel. Holding out her hands to catch it is hardly more than a reflex, but suddenly she's holding it in her hands. She laughs a little at the irony—she'd almost been a bride last year, and this year, getting married anytime in the near future is the last thing on her mind. Although, theoretically, she and Quinn can get married in New York anytime they'd like, but it's far too soon to be thinking about things like that yet.

Rachel lifts her gaze and seeks out Quinn, who's staring back at her with faint smile. Quinn turns and says something to Santana before she walks away, but instead of coming back toward the bar, she skirts around the couples beginning to fill the dance floor and away from the party. Rachel furrows her brow and bounces on her toes, trying to track where Quinn is going until she catches sight of her graceful form on the staircase leading up to the mezzanine. Rachel's feet immediately move in that direction.

She sidesteps Noah and his barely-old-enough-to-consent, blonde Cheerio (who she's been told has some weird, girl crush on Quinn and is therefore on Rachel's list of undesirable additions to New Directions) and brushes past Tina without a word. When she crests the top step, she pauses, glancing around at the empty landing before she notices the bathroom. Taking an educated guess, she pushes open the door and steps inside.

The interior is pristine—clean and nicely appointed with large mirrors, a marble counter with built-in sinks, and linen towels. Quinn strikes a familiar pose in front of the mirror, touching up her eyeliner. "Some things never change," Rachel murmurs with a half-smile as she lovingly traces Quinn's profile with her eyes.

Quinn drops her hand, laying down the liner pencil on the counter with a soft click before turning and arching an eyebrow. "Like you following me into bathrooms."

Rachel sighs and sets the bouquet down on the counter. "In some ways, I suppose I've always been chasing after you." She takes a step closer, biting her lip and gliding her fingers along the counter as she holds Quinn's gaze. "I'll never stop, Quinn…even if I stumble over every other step. You're too important to me."

"You have been stumbling a lot," Quinn point outs dryly, resting her own hand on the countertop. Her long fingers are steepled less than an inch away from Rachel's hand, and Rachel can't resist edging her own fingers closer until the pads ghost over Quinn's perfect, red fingernails. Quinn's eyes drop down to focus on the subtle motion.

"I wish I could assure you that I've found my footing, but I'm not sure I ever will with you." Quinn presses her lips together and pulls her hand back just enough to break contact, but Rachel is quick to stop her from retreating behind her familiar walls. "And that's not a bad thing, Quinn. Yes, you frustrate me at times, but you also challenge me and force me to think about things from a different perspective." She cups her hand over Quinn's and takes another half-step forward. "It's one of the many things that I love about you."

The tip of Quinn's tongue peaks out and runs along her lower lip before she asks, "What are the others?"

Rachel drags her gaze away from Quinn's mouth. "Others?" she repeats dumbly.

Quinn smirks, taking her own half-step forward until there's no personal space left between them. "The many things that you love about me," she prompts in a husky whisper.

Rachel sucks in a quick, little breath—she wonders if anyone who has dated Quinn has ever managed to resist her when she uses _that voice. _"I...you...you're Q-quinn," she stammers stupidly, internally cringing at her sudden loss of eloquence.

"I love your strength," she tries again, thinking of everything that Quinn has been through in her short life. "And your intelligence. I love that you devour books the way I do music," she says with growing confidence when she sees Quinn's smile transform from teasing to touched. "I love the way you dance, especially when you close you eyes and forget that anyone else is watching. I love your smile...all your smiles, really, but mostly the wide, joyous one that shows all your teeth." Quinn's cheeks tint as pink as the skirt of her dress as she tries and fails to suppress a smile that comes very close to the one that Rachel just described.

"I love your addiction to blazers," Rachel jokes, delighting in Quinn's giggle as she tugs at the multicolored, sequined jacket that Quinn chose to pair with her red and fuchsia dress—and really, Rachel sometimes wonders why Quinn's often mismatched outfits are considered fashionable while her own were always criticized.

"But I really love what's under them," she murmurs, sliding her hand under the jacket and across Quinn's breast in a feather-light caress before pressing her open palm over Quinn's heart. Rachel feels Quinn's breathing hitch as much as she hears it and sees it. "I love everything about you," she whispers against Quinn's lips.

"Good answer," Quinn purrs before claiming Rachel's mouth in a sensual kiss.

The last of the tension between them melts and reforms into another kind of tension entirely. Quinn's arms slip around Rachel's waist, and her hands dip low to mold Rachel's ass. Rachel moves her own hand from where it rests over Quinn's thrumming heart to cup her breast. Someone moans, but Rachel can't be sure if it was Quinn or her or both of them together—she only knows that she loves the way their bodies fit together. Every one of her curves matches to one of Quinn's, and Quinn's curves are so very nice—soft and yielding to her touch.

Her body hums with the arousal that's been fed and stifled too many times over the last two days, and she breaks their kiss with a ragged gasp, only to push at the edges of Quinn's jacket until she can bring her mouth down to nip and suckle the creamy skin at the base of Quinn's throat. Quinn groans and curls her fingers into Rachel's ass, sending a spike of pleasure through her and causing her hips to jerk forward.

Quinn staggers back slightly until she's leaning more securely against the counter. Her legs fall open just enough for Rachel's thigh to slip between them. Her skirt hikes up just a little, and Quinn's fingers help it along by steadily bunching the material as well as she can in order to seek out skin. Rachel can feel those elegant fingers running greedily along the edge of her panties, and she whimpers, scraping her teeth over Quinn's clavicle before soothing the flesh with her tongue.

She pushes that damnable jacket back further and dips her head to kiss the upper swell of Quinn's breast, pulling a breathy moan from her. Fingers tangle into her hair and scratch at her scalp, and Rachel presses forward, savoring the taste of Quinn's skin on her tongue as her hands wander over the silk of Quinn's dress.

"M-maybe we…oh…oh, Rachel," Quinn moans, grinding down against Rachel's thigh in response to the pull of Rachel's mouth against her skin and the thumb currently flicking back and forth across her peaked nipple. Her hips continue to rock as her hands wildly grasp at Rachel's ass and thighs. Rachel is so turned on right now—she never imagined how incredibly arousing it would be to feel Quinn surrender to her—so she's understandably slow to respond when Quinn whimpers and breathlessly manages to pant out, "M-maybe...we...we shouldn't be d-doing this in here."

The logical part of Rachel agrees, but she's so tired of being logical—logic has done nothing but ruin her first Valentine's Day with Quinn. She just wants to slip her hands underneath Quinn's dress and explore more of her soft skin and enticing curves, but she concedes that maybe the ladies' room isn't exactly the right place for that. She reluctantly detaches her mouth from Quinn with a mild pout and leans back just far enough to meet dilated, hazel eyes. The unconcealed passion that greets her steals what's left of her breath. She loves seeing Quinn this way—stripped bare of the mask that she's perfected for so long and carried away by her own emotions.

"You're right. We shouldn't," Rachel agrees with a terse nod. "As much as I really want to keep debauching you right now, a bathroom is hardly the most romantic place for all the things I want to do to you."

Quinn groans and closes her eyes, running her tongue over her lips again, and Rachel barely resists the urge to lean back in and pick up where they left off. "I don't suppose you'd reconsider getting that hotel room?" Quinn murmurs.

She actually would. Her body is screaming at her for denying it the release it craves—_again_. "We should probably say our goodbyes first."

Quinn's eyes pop open, dark and sparking with desire. "Don't tease me, Rachel."

Rachel grins, carefully untangling herself from Quinn and tugging her dress back down. "I think we've both done enough of that. It's well past time for a little pleasing."

Quinn pushes away from the counter and loops her arms around Rachel again, threading one hand into her hair. "Oh, there will be _a lot_ of pleasing," she promises in a timbre that resonates through Rachel's body and causes a few very pleasant tremors in her core. The kiss she places on Rachel's lips is slow and sensual.

When they part, Rachel drags in a steadying breath and lifts her hand to run her thumb under Quinn lower lip. "You might need a little touch up before we go back out there."

Quinn smirks, gently raking her fingers through Rachel's hair. "You definitely do. I can certainly see what Santana meant about using the same shade of lipstick."

Rachel giggles. "Maybe it would be easier if you just stopped wearing it altogether."

"Maybe I like the way it looks on you," she counters, dipping her head to brush another kiss across Rachel's lips.

Quinn sighs and releases her, turning around to face the mirror. Rachel echoes her actions, reaching for a towel to dab at her lips before catching sight of the wild state of her hair. After she removes the evidence of Quinn's kisses, she does her best to finger comb her hair back into submission and silently curses the fact that she'd left her purse stashed under the seat in the rental car. "I'm certainly glad I opted not to straighten my hair today, since you've managed to give me sex hair without actually having sex."

Quinn chuckles as she reapplies her lipstick. "Just wait until later," she warns playfully, meeting Rachel's eyes in the mirror with a sultry smile before returning her attention to repairing her makeup.

Rachel watches her with hungry eyes, giving up on her hair and admiring Quinn instead. She's witnessed this mundane ritual countless times in the years that she's known her. It used to inspire a sort of envious melancholy—Rachel wondering what it would be like to be as flawless as Quinn Fabray—but now it's almost like enjoying her favorite musical, —comforting, but so beloved that she can watch it forever and always find a new detail to enjoy.

Quinn pauses her ministrations and leans closer to the mirror with a frown. She brushes her hair back off her shoulder and tugs her jacket to the side with narrowed eyes. "You know, for someone trying to keep our relationship quiet, you certainly do like to mark me."

Rachel drops her gaze to the line of dark red blotches that mar Quinn's perfect, pale skin from her throat to her right breast, and she blushes a little at her handiwork, but she isn't about to apologize. "You could always say you burned yourself with the curling iron," she suggests, biting back an amused grin.

"Funny," Quinn deadpans with an arched brow, "but I obviously didn't curl my hair today."

Rachel shrugs one shoulder. "Just keep your jacket closed," she turns and lightly fingers the material as she leans in and places her lips close to Quinn's ear, "until I can strip it off of you later."

Quinn turns her head, intent on kissing Rachel again, but Rachel ducks away. "Don't you dare start that again, Quinn Fabray! I just made myself presentable."

"Excuse me?" Quinn grumbles with a pout. "Who started?"

Rachel grins cheekily and picks up the bouquet before placing a soft, barely-there kiss to the corner of Quinn's mouth to soothe her. "I'll meet you in fifteen minutes at the front desk," she promises, running her hand over her dress one final time to smooth the wrinkles before she pushes open the bathroom door and walks out.

"That's weird," rumbles from behind her almost immediately, and she nearly jumps out of her skin in surprise. She stops and turns to see Finn leaning casually against the wall, obviously waiting for her, and she experiences a moment of panic that he knows exactly what just happened in the bathroom, but then he says, "Traditionally, only single girls line up to catch the bouquet," and Rachel lets out a relieved breath. Finn pushes off the wall and closes the distance between them, reaching out to pick one of the daisies from the arrangement that she's clutching and pulling a single petal free from the bud. "She loves me.¹"

"I am single,¹" she lies—well, kind of, because even though she's in a relationship, technically she _is_ an unmarried woman, and therefore as eligible to catch the bouquet as Quinn had been. Rachel glances behind Finn at the closed bathroom door, half-hoping that Quinn will stay in there for a while longer and half-hoping that she'll come out right now so that Rachel can avoid this conversation.

"You're seeing that guy," Finn accuses, walking over to the railing and pulling at a second petal. "She loves me not.¹"

"Have you been drinking?¹" she asks suspiciously, putting her hand on the rail. She once again chooses not to correct Finn's misinformation.

"You know, you were the one who told me to stop moping around and being such a sad sack," he says, pacing in front of her. He picks another petal, murmuring, "She loves me. And it got me thinking about Will and Emma. About how relationships are a lot like flowers." He lifts the poor, abused daisy between his fingers as he moves closer to her. "If you find the right seed, put it in good soil, give it water and sunlight… Bam!" he exclaims, twirling the flower. "Perfect bud. She loves me not," he says as he tugs another petal free.

"And then comes winter, and the flower dies, but if you tend that garden, spring will come along, and that flower will bloom again. She loves me.¹" Another poor petal flutters to the ground in ironic opposition of Finn's words.

"Are you telling me that you want to be a gardener?¹" Rachel jokes with a semi-amused smile playing on her lips. She's not really affected by Finn's speech, but she is a little impressed at his use of the extended metaphor—perhaps he actually had been paying attention to her all those times that she'd attempted to explain it to him.

"I'm asking you how you can be in a relationship with a guy and still be single? She loves me not.¹"

Rachel huffs out a breath. "Because I'm not married, nor am I engaged," she reminds him sharply. "And in fact, my relationship with Brody was never strictly exclusive anyway," she evades. "I mean, it's New York. I'm in college. This is my chance to," she stops herself before she says _experiment_, mindful that Quinn is still inside that bathroom and that word has gotten Rachel into trouble before, "break free from those narrow restrictions that I'd placed on myself and embrace new experiences," she says instead.

Finn smirks, plucking another petal. "She loves me. So do you really believe that stuff you tell yourself?" he wants to know, still playing his game with the flower. "She loves me not.¹"

"You think I'm lying to you?¹" she accuses, irritation seeping into her voice despite the fact that she _is _actually lying to him.

"I think you're lying to yourself," he answers without hesitation, destroying another petal. "She loves me. And I think the reason you can't really commit is because you're still in love with someone else," he tells her with a smug grin. "She loves me not.¹"

Rachel stifles the laugh that wants to bubble up from her throat. Finn is more right than he can even know. She _is_ in love with someone else, and it certainly isn't, "You?¹"

"You and I both know how this thing ends," he tells her, shaking his head a little as he moistens his lips, and Rachel has a weird moment of déjà vu, because the bold statement is so very close to something Quinn told her once upon a time with a piano beside them and Finn symbolically between them. "I don't know how or when, and I don't care where you're living or what dope you're shacked up with. You're my girlfriend. We are endgame. I know that, and you know that,¹" he vows, leaning in closer with the clear intention of kissing her.

"You know, five months ago, I probably would have swooned at what you just said," Rachel says flatly, causing Finn to stop in confusion, "despite the fact that it's extremely presumptuous and frankly, kind of stalkerish," she mutters with a concerned frown. "But life isn't some fairytale or romantic comedy that we can know the ending to before we've even lived through all the experiences in the middle."

Finn opens his mouth to protest, but Rachel raises a hand to stop him, ruefully admitting, "I know that I used to think it was. I was the misunderstood, yet talented, young ingénue, and you were the cute, sweet popular guy who saw past all of the shallow trappings, and we were meant to have this dramatic, epic love story where we fought against every obstacle to be together until we could have our happy ending." She smiles sadly as she gazes at Finn's hopeful face. "But my story has changed, Finn. The life I'm living now has a different ending, and yours does too," she tells him gently. "We're not even starring in the same genre anymore," she muses, thinking that the movie of her life is now going to be categorized under alternative lifestyles.

Finn stubbornly shakes his head. "Look, I know that's your fancy way of trying to deny what we have…"

"_Had_, Finn," she corrects.

"But you can't know that we won't find our way back to one another anymore than you claim I can't know that we _will_." He reaches out and brushes his fingers over her biceps. "It's all about having faith in us."

Rachel shakes her head. "No, it's about refusing to let go of something because the future is scary and uncertain. You're still holding on to the past, but I'm not, Finn." She reaches up and covers his hand with her own, lifting it away from her arm before letting go. "You're right…I don't know what will happen or how my story ends, but I know that I don't see you in it anymore."

"Then you're not looking," he insists.

"And _you're_ not _listening_," Quinn growls from behind him, arresting his attention for a moment.

Rachel flinches—she hadn't even noticed Quinn exit the bathroom, and she doesn't know how long she's been standing there watching their exchange, but she can tell from the look on Quinn's face that she's not happy at all.

"Can you maybe give us some privacy?" Finn asks impatiently.

"Oh, I think you've had more than enough time alone with Rachel," she says snidely, coming to stand protectively next to her.

"Quinn, please," Rachel begs softly, still hoping to avoid a big, dramatic scene, "let me handle this."

Quinn glares at her, crossing her arms defensively, but mutters an annoyed, "Fine."

Rachel offers her a grateful smile, and turns back to Finn with renewed determination, though he's still staring at Quinn with a confused frown. "Look, I care about you, Finn," she says, pulling his gaze back to her. "I do. You were my first love, and my first time, and a part of me is always going to love you for that reason," she admits, forcing herself to ignore the way Quinn tenses at her side, "but I'm not in love with you anymore. I'd like us to find a way to be friends again, but you have to let go of this idea that we're destined to be together…because we're not."

"Even if you're lucky enough to meet your soulmate, it doesn't guarantee that you'll be in love forever and have some storybook happy ending," she nervously glances at Quinn, who's looking back at her with an unreadable expression. Rachel flashes her what she hopes is a reassuring smile before she meets Finn's clouded eyes again. "You have to work for it every single day. And, Finn, you and I…we just don't work."

"But we can if we try again," Finn argues.

"You're not trying anything again," Quinn snaps. "Rachel has made it pretty clear that she doesn't want to be with you anymore. Why don't you try respecting that?"

Finn shoves a frustrated hand through his hair. "Why are you even here? This has nothing to do with you," he shouts.

Rachel winces at his show of temper, and she hears the tiny wisp of surprise as Quinn inhales quickly through her nose. She instinctively reaches out to touch Quinn's arm, and she can feel the muscles jump under her fingers. She sees the tightness of Quinn's jaw and the hurt glistening in her eyes, and it's suddenly all too much for Rachel. She can't keep doing this to Quinn.

"It does," Rachel says, still staring at Quinn's profile—and then she's looking directly into stunned, hazel eyes. "It has everything to do with Quinn." She reaches for Quinn's hand, prying it away from its fisted position against her body. Quinn grabs onto her immediately, and Rachel smiles, twining their fingers together before she looks back at Finn with confidence. "I'm in love with her."

He stares at them with a furrowed brow and open mouth. Rachel has seen this look several dozen times in the past, and she wonders how long it will take him to fully comprehend what she's just told him. She hates having to do it this way. She hates having to do it at all, really, but she was at least hoping that Finn would have actually moved on from her before she had to break the news that she's most definitely moving on with Quinn. She'd wanted to keep this day as drama free as possible, but that's pretty pointless now that Ms. Pillsbury has bailed on her wedding, and Finn got it in his mind to try to plant some weird, love garden with her.

She knows the moment the revelation sinks in, because his eyes flash with disbelief, and he barks out a short, dismissive laugh. "Yeah, right," he scoffs, and Quinn's fingers tighten around hers almost painfully. "Look, Rach, I understand that you think you want me to give up on us right now, but pretending to be suddenly gay with _Quinn_, of all people, isn't even remotely believable."

"I'm not gay," Rachel insists tiredly—she's been saying that a lot lately, "but I am in love with Quinn, and we're very much together."

"_Very much_ together," Quinn repeats smugly, letting go of Rachel's hand so that she can slip an arm snugly around her waist instead. Rachel melts into her side without reservation.

"Okay, you're kind of taking the joke a little too far now," Finn angrily accuses.

"It's not a joke," Quinn vehemently defends. "If you'd get over yourself for one damn minute you'd realize that Rachel has been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes that she doesn't love you anymore." She reaches out and snags the last petal from the decimated flower still grasped between Finn's fingers. "She loves _me_."

Finn drops his hand, glaring at Quinn before he turns to Rachel with a scowl. "But you're with that Brody guy."

Rachel drops her gaze guiltily. "We did date for a little while, mostly because I was in denial about my feelings for Quinn, but that's over." She meets his eyes unflinchingly. "It was just easier to let you think that I was upset over Brody last fall than…than to admit that I was upset over what was happening with Quinn."

Quinn gives her a reassuring squeeze, smiling down at her. "And it was easier for me to tell everyone at Thanksgiving that I hadn't visited Rachel in New York than to deal with any questions about what happened between us when I did," she confesses softly.

Finn's eyes dart back and forth between them, and he shakes his head again. "I don't believe you."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Well, then, maybe you'll believe this," she reaches up and brushes back her hair before she tugs her jacket aside, proudly showing off the hickeys that Rachel had left on her. "We just spent fifteen minutes fooling around in the bathroom. Not to mention the romantic morning we had together before we were so rudely interrupted by your two phone calls and four text messages."

Rachel can feel her face heat. "Quinn, is that really necessary?"

Quinn shrugs, but it's Finn who answers, "No. No, this isn't…I don't accept this. She's lying. Tell me she's lying, Rachel," he pleads.

Rachel's heart aches for him, but it's a dull, wistful throb that makes no demands for immediate attention. "I'm so sorry, Finn," she whispers.

He slams his hand against the railing, startling Rachel and making her flinch. Quinn shifts protectively next to her as Finn spins sideways and paces away from them. "This is bullshit!" he yells, turning around to glare at them and pointing an accusatory finger at Quinn. "She's playing you for some insane," he throws up both hands in agitation, "_Quinn_ reason."

Quinn's body goes rigid against Rachel. "You're so wrong," she bites out. "I'm sorry if this hurts you, Finn, but even after all this time, you really don't know me at all, and you know nothing about my feelings for Rachel. I'm in love with her."

Outwardly, she's projecting remarkable calm, but now that Rachel has learned to pay attention to Quinn's tells, she can hear the slight tremor in her voice, see the emotion churning in her eyes, and feel the nearly imperceptible quiver in her muscles. Finn's accusation wounded her, and knowing that Quinn is hurting makes Rachel's heart ache so severely that it feels as though it's going to bleed right out of her chest and leave an empty, gaping hole. She rubs a supportive hand over Quinn's back, under her jacket. "If you really care about me," Rachel tells Finn gently, "you need to respect my relationship with Quinn."

Quinn sighs, sagging against Rachel and looking down at her with sparkling eyes. Finn scoffs, ignoring Quinn's words and leveling his intense gaze on Rachel. "She's gonna break your heart," he warns her harshly before his voice softens. "And when she does, I'll be here waiting."

"Please don't wait for me, Finn," Rachel begs sadly. "I'm _happy_ with Quinn."

Finn shakes his head stubbornly, looking back and forth between them before he huffs out a frustrated breath and takes a step toward the staircase. He stops with one hand on the railing and one foot down on the second step, twisting sideways to take one last weighted look at her. "We're meant to be together, Rachel," he says with conviction, "and sooner or later, we'll find our way back to one another."

"Oh, my God," Quinn mutters under her breath as they watch Finn turn and disappear down the stairs. "It's like talking to a wall."

Rachel closes her eyes and turns into Quinn, tucking her chin onto a deceptively strong shoulder and hugging her fiercely. "I love you," she whispers. "I'm so sorry Finn said those things to upset you."

Quinn hugs her back, burying her nose into Rachel's hair and inhaling deeply. "I'm used to it," she mutters before pulling away to gaze down into Rachel's eyes in concern. Her hand leaves Rachel's back to gently brush back a strand of dark hair. "I'm more worried about you."

Rachel heaves a sigh and shakes her head dejectedly. "I'm fine. I just really wish that Finn would realize that it's time to let go of the past and move on. It makes me sad to think that he's waiting for something that isn't going to happen."

Quinn's lips curve, and she begins to sway a little in time with the music filtering up from the reception. "Why did you tell him anyway? I thought you wanted to avoid the drama and keep this to ourselves for a while longer."

"I did, but not at the expense of your feelings, Quinn. I told you that I'm not ashamed of you, but my actions were sending a different message, and I don't want that to happen with us. I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved," she says, following the motion of Quinn's body as they fall into a slow dance.

She's still a little wary of sharing their relationship with everyone so soon—maybe it's because she and Quinn have always had these incredibly intimate moments when they're alone, even before they were friends, and she's always been hesitant to share them with anyone—but she doesn't want to be afraid anymore. And she doesn't want her fear to keep causing Quinn unnecessary pain. She feels lighter now that Finn knows about them, and she wants to enjoy the rest of this weekend the way she should have been doing from the beginning—with her girlfriend.

Quinn dips her head, brushing her lips over Rachel's in a tender kiss. "This is a really good start," Quinn whispers happily as they continue to dance together.

"Do you want to go back down to the reception together?" Rachel questions softly, taking a nervous breath. "As my date?"

"I'd rather get that room," Quinn drawls, "but I suppose we should at least let Santana and Kurt know that they shouldn't wait for us."

Rachel tightens her hold on Quinn's waist and leans in to kiss her softly before saying, "Let's go." Quinn lets Rachel slip out of her arms and takes a step toward the stairs, but Rachel catches her hand and firmly entwines their fingers. Quinn smiles that smile—the one that Rachel wants to see for the rest of her life—and all of Rachel's lingering concerns fade right out of her mind. They walk down the stairs together, and in that moment, with Quinn beside her, Rachel couldn't care less who sees them.

* * *

¹_Glee 4x14, "I Do"_


	4. Hesitate and Wake

**Part IV: Hesitate and Wake**

* * *

Quinn feels likes she's been on a roller coaster over the last few days (and the last few months and the last few years). A lot of the ups can be contributed to Rachel Berry, either directly or indirectly, as can a heaping handful of the downs, but Quinn can never claim that it hasn't been exciting in its own nerve-racking, nauseating way. Lately, those ups and downs have been smaller—more like the bunny hops at the end of the coaster that don't really seem like much to look at—but they certainly send you flying around in your seat. And even though you may feel a little rattled by the time the train coasts into the station, the feeling of flying (or defying gravity, as Rachel would say) that you experience for just a few precious seconds makes everything worth the ride.

That's the way Quinn feels right now.

She can't deny that her stomach is dipping and twirling as she walks down the stairs with Rachel's hand tucked firmly around hers. She knows it's a little silly to be feeling nervous when Rachel is finally giving her exactly what she's been asking for since they first discussed coming back to Lima, but she's realizing that this—being out and open in front of all their friends and acquaintances—makes everything feel like a true beginning instead of just marking time.

They aren't actually coming out with any grand announcements. They're really only holding hands, and they've done this in the past on the rare occasion in glee club when they were lost in a song or actually attempting to be better friends and support one another. Rachel is generally very tactile with all of her friends, so this isn't exactly a giant neon sign that they're together and planning to rent a room to spend the night having sex—Quinn ___really _wants there to be sex tonight.

Mostly, she just wants to relax and be with Rachel and not have to censor her every word and action or refrain from sharing the easy, intimate touches that are quickly becoming an addiction to her. They don't need to stop and tell all of their friends every detail of their romance tonight—it's enough for now that Rachel has made it clear that she's really and truly done with Finn Hudson.

Luckily, Finn isn't anywhere to be seen right now. Telling him had been cathartic but stressful nonetheless—mostly because the moment his hand had slammed down on that railing, Quinn had experienced an unfortunate flashback to last year's prom episode. That had been the first time in her life that she'd been a little afraid of Finn, and while she'd convinced herself after the fact that he wouldn't have physically dragged her out of her wheelchair, after seeing and hearing him tonight, she's not quite as certain that he isn't capable of losing his temper enough to do something stupid someday. And that makes her worry about Rachel, especially when Finn isn't ready to let go of her.

Quinn had spent the entire afternoon sulking thanks to Finn's immediate appearance the moment that Rachel was in his vicinity—like a freaking magnet to metal—and Rachel had done nothing to discourage him at the time. She knows that she's been more than a little insecure over the last few days, and being insecure makes her more than a little bitchy, but all things considered, she thinks that she's been handling all of this pretty well. And, all things considered, Rachel has tried to make certain that Quinn feels loved and wanted. She'd certainly felt both of those things after her encounter with Rachel in the bathroom—that is, until she'd opened the door to see Finn's massive form towering over her girlfriend.

Quinn had been frozen for a few moments as she'd listened to Finn ask Rachel to have faith in them and their future, and she'd watched him touch her with so much familiarity—like he still had the right. Quinn had been torn between running back into the bathroom to be sick and rushing forward to physically drag him away from Rachel. Instead, she'd stood there, fighting back tears because she was always, _always_ on the losing side of that triangle. For three years, she'd had to watch Rachel and Finn keep choosing each over and over again. Quinn had nearly died on the way to a rushed, high school wedding because Rachel had been determined to forever bind herself to Finn.

She'd been trying to push away her doubts and have faith that she'd beaten the odds and won Rachel's heart forever, but some part of her had been half-expecting the stars to reappear in Rachel's eyes when she'd looked at Finn the way they always had in the past. So Quinn had braced herself for the worst—losing Rachel before she'd even had the chance to really _have_ her—but, to her relief, she didn't see a single starry eye or lovesick expression until Rachel had looked at ___her_.

Quinn tightens her hold on Rachel's hand at the bottom of the stairs and gently stops her before they reenter the reception. Rachel looks at her in confusion, and she takes a breath and smiles tremulously. "As much as I want to walk in there with you right now, I need to make sure that you're really ready for this and that you aren't just doing it because I've been kind of a bitch today," she admits guiltily. She really doesn't want to keep pushing Rachel too far and too quickly out of her comfort zone.

The corner of Rachel's mouth quirks up. "If I let that influence me, my entire high school existence would have been vastly different."

Quinn flinches at the reminder, but the faint smile on Rachel's lips helps to ease the sting. "I'm so sorry for all of that," she says, not for the first time. "And for making today harder than it needed to be."

Rachel sighs. "Look, we've both made some mistakes in how we've been handling this situation, and we're probably going to keep making mistakes for the next fifty or sixty years." Quinn smiles at the promise of a lifetime with Rachel. "But what really matters is that we're working through our rough patches together," she gives Quinn's hand a reaffirming squeeze, "and making compromises. But this," she lifts their joined hands in emphasis, "isn't one of them."

Relief overcomes her, and she feels an invisible weight lift from her shoulders. "I love you," she murmurs.

"I love you, too," Rachel echoes with a soft smile. "Now let's go in there, because the sooner we do that, the sooner we can say our goodbyes and finally be alone together."

Quinn is completely on board with that plan. She feels warm all over, and it has nothing to do with the two glasses of wine that she'd had earlier and everything to do with Rachel.

A few people pause to look at them as they walk through the room, but most don't give them a second glance—too involved in their own enjoyment of the party. One or two eyebrows lift in surprised curiosity—Mercedes and Tina most notably—but Quinn only smiles and keeps walking. Kurt does a double take, immediately noticing their linked hands and content expressions, and he grins widely and offers them a thumbs up before he turns back to Blaine.

They find Santana at the bar where they'd left her, only she's leaning halfway over it and all but flashing her boobs to the bartender—who actually seems to be enjoying the view if her flirty smile and laughter are anything to go by. "You should totally come to New York," Santana tells the woman with a seductive smile. "I'll give you a personal tour of my awesome loft."

"_Your_ loft?" Rachel challenges, coming to a stop beside Santana with her hand still connected to Quinn's. "Need I remind you that you moved into _our_ loft less than a week ago." Santana scowls in irritation while Rachel continues to scold her in front of the woman she's been trying to pick up. "You simply can't invite whomever you happen to meet without discussing it with Kurt and me beforehand."

Rachel flashes an apologetic smile at the bartender. "No offense. I'm sure you're a very lovely woman."

"No worries, hon," she answers with amusement in her blue eyes before winking at Santana and turning around to attend to her work behind the bar.

Santana whimpers in disappointment before glaring at Rachel. "I don't seem to remember you ___discussing_ Quinn's visit with anyone. You just announced that she was coming to New York."

Rachel huffs. "That's completely different. Quinn is my girlfriend. She has an open invitation to stay with us whenever she chooses, unlike certain other people who show up unannounced and have yet to contribute to the rent."

Quinn smiles and leans into Rachel's side, loving the sound of _my girlfriend_ on her lips. She's more amused than she probably should be by Rachel and Santana's banter, but mostly, she's just happy that she and Rachel seem to be over the Lima-sized speed bump in their relationship.

"You'll get your rent when I get an actual bed to sleep on," Santana argues. "In the meantime, you and Lady Hummel should be grateful that I'm contributing my natural charm to your previously dull existence and generally improving the property value with my flawlessness."

"Maybe you should charge her ego its own rent," Quinn quips.

Rachel chuckles, and Santana narrows her eyes at Quinn. "I'm impressed that you can say that with a straight face when you're in lesbians with the girl whose ego has its own zip code."

"Hey," Rachel protests. "I'm standing right here!"

Santana tilts her head and looks her over. "Yeah, looking like you're ready to be the bride in Barbie's lesbian wedding, which makes you Midge, appropriately enough," she says with a smirk, "to Yale Barbie over here." She waves her hand down over Quinn's body, and Quinn rolls her eyes at the comparison.

"And you're wearing Quinn's lipstick again," Santana points out to Rachel with a grin that Quinn might even be tempted to call relieved. "So much for keeping it on the down low. Who suddenly flipped your switch to out and proud?"

Rachel fidgets guiltily and drops her gaze to the floor. "I realized that perhaps I was being a bit too circumspect in regards to my relationship with Quinn."

"You were being an idiot," Santana corrects, cutting a look to Quinn that silently asks if everything is really okay now.

Santana has been surprisingly supportive over the last two days, but it didn't stop her from colorfully voicing her concerns that maybe Rachel isn't as serious about this relationship as Quinn is. She'd had the same worry that Quinn had been trying desperately to shake, and his name was Finn Hudson.

"Yes, well, that's over now," Rachel swears.

Quinn smiles softly at her girlfriend before offering Santana a nod of confirmation. "We ran into Finn upstairs, so the secret is pretty much out, or will be soon enough, since he doesn't seem to be able to keep one to save his life."

"Hijo de puta," Santana curses, standing up straighter. "I knew I felt the floors shake from the Jolly Teen Giant getting cut down at the knees. Boo on you for letting me miss out on the fun."

"Really, Santana! Our confrontation was not something to be used for your entertainment," Rachel chastises.

Santana's eyes snap with dark fury at Rachel's word choice. "I swear to God, if he tried to start shit with either one of you, I'll do much worse than slap him this time."

Rachel presses her lips together, and Quinn honestly doesn't know whether she's trying to stifle a frown or a smile. "While I appreciate the sentiment, that won't be necessary. He took the news as well as can be expected."

Santana raises a brow and looks to Quinn for verification. She doesn't exactly agree with Rachel's interpretation, so she shrugs and says, "He hasn't given up on Rachel and thinks that he'll get her back when I inevitably screw things up." Rachel squeezes her hand in reassurance, and it's enough to keep Quinn's lingering worries at bay for the moment—she can't allow herself to screw up this relationship like she has all the others.

"Oh, hell no. There will be no more Fincheling," Santana insists, wagging her finger under Rachel's nose. "Quinn or no Quinn."

"Definitely Quinn," Rachel vows with confidence, gazing at Quinn with an adoring smile.

Quinn grins back and instinctively leans in to peck Rachel's lips without even thinking about the implications of the public display. The quiet hitch of breath against her mouth makes her pull back just as quickly with worried eyes. She holds her own breath, silently cursing herself for unintentionally pushing and hoping that Rachel doesn't panic. There's a moment of nervous hesitation, but then she shakes herself out of it, and surprises Quinn by pulling her closer and returning the kiss—although it's unarguably chaste in comparison to the other kisses that they've shared.

"Oh, ick. Get a freaking room," Santana grumbles, interrupting their moment.

Quinn smiles against Rachel's lips before she reluctantly pulls away. "We intend to," she informs Santana matter-of-factually. "So don't come looking for us."

Santana looks mildly impressed, and then she flashes a lascivious grin at them both. "I don't know, Q. Auntie Snix does appreciate a little voyeurism from time to time, and your girlfriend just twat-swatted me with..." she trails off, cutting a disgruntled look at the bartender who's currently mixing a drink for one of the other guests. "Damn, she never did tell me her name."

"We'll just leave you to work that out, then," Quinn tells her, tugging Rachel's hand to make their escape. She really doesn't want Santana doing or saying anything else to ruin the mood. She just wants to get Rachel alone—finally.

"Well, aren't you the eager beavers," Santana says wickedly.

Quinn feels the tips of her ears heat, and she glances at Rachel to see that she's blushing too. "Goodnight, Santana," she growls over her shoulder as she guides Rachel away.

She hears Santana call out, "Don't forget to use protection," and Quinn cringes, casting an apologetic look at Rachel.

"I'm sorry about that," she says.

Rachel chuckles a little, shrugging. "It's Santana." She stops Quinn before they reach the door, biting into her lip and looking suddenly uncertain.

"What's wrong?" Quinn asks softly. "Do you...do you not want to anymore?" She really hopes that she manages to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Rachel releases a laughing breath. "No, I definitely want to," she insists, then licks her lips and glances nervously around the room. "Would you," she inhales deeply, and that familiar look of determination comes over her face, "dance with me, Quinn?"

Quinn inhales sharply, and she swears that her heart might actually flutter with excitement. "Are you sure?" she asks hopefully. She's more than willing to delay being alone with Rachel for a little while longer if it means sharing a dance in public, but, "We don't have to if you're not comfortable with it yet."

"We've got the ballroom and the live band," Rachel points out with a tremulous smile, pulling Quinn back to the dance floor. "And a romantic ballad," she tips her head in the direction of the stage where that Marley girl is putting her own spin on "When You Say Nothing At All." "What could be more perfect?" Rachel asks, and Quinn swallows thickly, nodding her agreement.

She steps into Rachel's arms without hesitation, careful to keep her hands in respectable places. She wants them to be open with their relationship, but she doesn't feel the need to give everyone a show. Some things are meant to be kept private. Rachel loops her arms around Quinn's shoulders—bouquet still clutched in one hand—as they glide into a slow dance. Quinn can feel more than one curious gaze on them, but she focuses her attention on Rachel, looking into the only eyes that really matter. There are still traces of trepidation sparkling in their depths, and it's enough to keep Quinn from pulling Rachel closer and pressing their cheeks together.

"Are we really doing this?" she wonders out loud.

Rachel draws a breath and nods. "I love you, Quinn. I won't deny that I still feel a little...unsettled, I suppose," she reluctantly admits. "But not about us. _Never_ about us," she stresses, moving a hand to soothingly stroke her fingers over the nape of Quinn's neck. "I want to be with you, and maybe I'm not quite ready to shout our love from the mountaintops, but," she pauses to lick her lips, "I can do this. I can dance with my beautiful girlfriend who I'm so proud to be with."

The words wrap themselves around Quinn's heart and filter through her blood, making her entire being sing with happiness. "I've wanted this for so long," she murmurs.

Rachel's lips curve into a gentle smile, and she begins to softly hum along with the music until she's quietly singing the lyrics along with Marley. Quinn can only hear Rachel.

_"____All day long I can hear people talking out loud,  
But when you hold me near, you drown out the crowd.__²____"_

Rachel tightens her hold on Quinn, doing exactly what she'd wanted by pressing their cheeks together and singing softly into her ear.

_"____Old Mr. Webster could never define  
What's being said between your heart and mine.__²____"_

Quinn's eyes fall closed in contentment as she breathes in the familiar scent of honeysuckle. There were so many times that she'd imagined what this would be like—to have Rachel in her arms, singing just for her and knowing that the words actually mean something. The reality is so much better than any of her dreams.

___"The smile on your face lets me know that you need me.  
There's a truth in your eyes sayin' you'll never leave me.  
The touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall.  
You say it best when you say nothing at all._²_"_

Quinn guides them in a slow circle in front of the stage. In her peripheral vision, she can see Kurt and Blaine sharing their own dance (and if she wasn't completely caught up in Rachel, she'd probably question what he's doing when he's sort of dating someone else), and Brittany dancing in Sam's arms (and she does feel a pang of empathy for Santana, even if her friend is attempting to drown her misery in alcohol and the hot brunette serving it), and Mercedes and Tina gesturing furiously at them (and she really doesn't give a damn about that). She's too happy just to be here in this moment with Rachel invading all of her senses at once. Well, almost all of them.

Before the final chorus ends, Quinn presses closer and urges, "Let's get out of here."

Rachel stops singing and pulls back to look at Quinn with an amused smile. "Do you think we can get away without being stopped to answer a dozen questions?" she asks, eyeing Mercedes and Tina warily.

"There's a pretty clear path to door if we make a break for it right now," Quinn says, jerking her head in that direction. "We only have to get past Joe."

Rachel turns to study their escape route with a critical eye, and then checks the other direction to see Mercedes and Tina inching onto the dance floor. "We'll have to be quick," she warns.

"Quick now and slow later," Quinn says with a seductive smile. "I'm not in the mood to share you with anyone else tonight."

Rachel's tongue peaks out to moisten her lips, and Quinn stifles an appreciate moan. She really loves Rachel's mouth, and she's really going to love that mouth on every part of her body.

"Then let's go," Rachel urges, dropping her arms from Quinn's shoulders and grabbing her hand. She spins on her heel in a move that Quinn knows she's been practicing since she was four—perfectly executed just as it has been on every Diva storm out that Rachel has ever performed—and those amazing legs of hers take off in a power walk that Quinn has to skip to keep up with.

Joe grins and raises his hand in a half-wave. "Hey, Quinn," he starts to say.

"Out of our way, Rastaman," Rachel growls, powering past him.

Quinn shoots him an apologetic smile, laughing in delight as they race out of the room. "I think living with Santana might be having a negative effect on you."

"I don't know," she reflects. "There might be some merit to adopting her abrasive personality in select situations."

Rachel leads Quinn unerringly through the lobby and to the front desk, and Quinn glances back over her shoulder, sighing in relief when she sees that no one is following them. Excitement bubbles inside of her, and she can't wait to finally get Rachel alone and naked underneath her. Or on top of her—she really doesn't care as long their bodies are pressed together in all the right places.

Quinn's memory of their first time together is clouded with alcohol and regret. She'd wanted Rachel too much to stop herself from taking the little bit that she'd been offered that night, and she'd suffered all the more for it in the morning. Tonight is going to be so different. She's going to take her time and explore every inch of Rachel Berry until she discovers what makes her sing, and in the morning, she's going to wake up tangled in Rachel's arms, knowing that there's nowhere else that either one of them would rather be.

"Um, Quinn?" Rachel interrupts her blissful musings with a meek voice, and Quinn blinks, frowning when she notices Rachel's sheepish expression. "You wouldn't happen to have a credit card, would you? I kind of left my purse in the car."

Quinn chuckles, reaching into her handbag and snagging the little wallet that contains exactly thirty dollars, her real driver's license, her fake ID, and an emergency credit card. "Some date you are," she jokes as she slides the credit card across the desk toward the clerk.

Rachel hooks her fingers into the inside of Quinn's jacket and leans in, whispering, "I promise to pay you back." She runs her tongue across her upper lip, and Quinn is pretty certain that she does things like that on purpose. "With interest."

Quinn leans in, lips hovering over Rachel's, but the clerk interrupts them before she can make contact by asking Quinn to sign the receipt. She groans and grabs the pen with gusto, scribbling her name as quickly as possible. The clerk gives her back her credit card and (thank God!) a key-card. Quinn stands still just long enough to catch the room number and the floor before she's pulling Rachel toward the elevator.

She only waits until the doors begin to slide closed before she turns, slips her arms around Rachel's waist, and kisses her like she's wanted to since they left that bathroom and Finn Hudson behind. Rachel's free hand instantly lifts to cup Quinn's nape, and she opens her mouth to meet her tongue in a slow, sensual dance. Her body has been buzzing with arousal ever since their earlier encounter, and while there's certainly a degree of urgency pulsing beneath the surface, Quinn is finding the slow burn to be incredibly appealing.

She rubs her hands in tiny circles against the lace of Rachel's dress—over her back and dipping every so often to the upper curve of Rachel's ass (and Quinn realizes that she may have a mild, heretofore unknown, obsession with that part of her body). Rachel arches against her, moaning low in her throat and pressing her hips closer with a shallow thrust. Quinn smiles and catches Rachel's lower lip with her teeth, giving it a playful tug before releasing it.

"I don't think I told you how much I love this dress on you," Quinn comments, still playing with the material and, by default, the parts of Rachel that are hidden underneath.

"If you tell me that you'll love it better on the floor, I may have to reevaluate tonight's activities," Rachel quips breathlessly, still moving restlessly against her.

"As if you could at this point," Quinn reasons, rolling her own hips forward and causing them both to gasp in pleasure, although Quinn manages to stifle hers to some degree. She dips her head for another taste of Rachel's mouth—just a quick sip that leaves them both unsatisfied—before she pulls back. "While I can't deny that I will certainly love seeing this dress on the floor, I genuinely think that you look absolutely gorgeous right now."

Rachel's lips curve into an almost shy smile, and she gazes at Quinn through her lashes. "You are so getting lucky tonight, Fabray."

"I already am," Quinn murmurs honestly.

"It's not luck," Rachel argues softly. "It's ___you_, and I'm so happy that you're ___mine__._"

"I'm so yours," Quinn agrees, kissing her again. Her heart has belonged to Rachel for a very long time now—she's just been waiting for her to pick it up off the floor, dust it off, and care for it the way that Quinn has been dreaming of caring for hers.

The elevator rattles to a stop, breaking them apart as the doors slide open. Rachel's smile widens, and she giggles happily, connecting their hands again as she tugs Quinn out into the hallway. Her stomach flutters in anticipation as they find their room, and she reluctantly lets go of Rachel only to slide the key-card into the door with a trembling hand until the green light flashes and the lock clicks open.

Under any other circumstance, Quinn would undoubtedly engage in a brief but thorough inspection of the room, silently judging whether or not it was up to par. She has the inescapable certainty that Rachel would do the same, but tonight, neither of them even gives their surroundings a second look past verifying that, yes, there is a bed.

Rachel sets the bouquet on the dresser, and Quinn does the same with her purse. There's a weird moment of awkward silence where they just sort of stare at one another, and Quinn starts to worry that Rachel is changing her mind—that she really doesn't want this after all—until Rachel huffs out an amused breath, rolls her eyes slightly, and reaches for Quinn. She slips her hands beneath the edges of Quinn's jacket and pushes it back off her shoulders. "It's time for this to go."

Quinn lets Rachel strip the jacket away with an amused smirk. "Why do I feel like you've wanted to get me out of that all evening?"

"Maybe because I have," Rachel answers without hesitation, tossing the jacket onto the nearby chair. She runs her hands along Quinn's bare arms up to her shoulders, tracing her fingers along the straps of her dress before she dips her head to press a kiss to one exposed clavicle. "It was in my way," she murmurs against Quinn's skin as she reaches around to tug at her zipper.

Quinn hisses out a breath and tangles her fingers into Rachel's hair, urging her up so that she can kiss her again. She teases at Rachel's lips, running her tongue over the fullness, before she slips inside. Rachel responds immediately, meeting her thrust for thrust as she temporarily abandons the half-undone zipper to press her open palm against the uncovered skin of Quinn's back. Rachel's other hand finds Quinn's breast through the fabric of her dress and teases the nipple into an aching peak. Right now, Quinn is seriously resenting the existence of excess material between her skin and Rachel, so she decides to rectify that, and she drags her mouth away with a series of teasing nips and licks.

She carefully untangles her hands from Rachel's hair, trying to catch her breath as she cups the hand that's still playing at her breast and presses it more urgently against her. "I think my dress in your way now. Why don't you do something about that?"

Rachel exhales shakily—her eyes impossibly dark. "I will if you stop distracting me."

Quinn's lips curl into a seductive smile. "But I don't plan to ever stop doing that," she teases before nipping lightly at Rachel's lower lip. She hears an adorable little growl rumble from her girlfriend, and then she feels her zipper give way as Rachel eases it down. Quinn smiles into the kiss and pulls away from Rachel just far enough to allow the loosened dress to slip down past her shoulders. Rachel curls her fingers beneath the edges of the material and helps it on its way to a careless puddle on the floor, leaving Quinn naked before her except for a pair of lacy, red panties and her black heels.

Rachel bites into her lip and lets her eyes travel a slow path down, and Quinn flushes with pleasure at the odd mix of hunger and reverence at war in her expression. The reverence has been there on and off for years, but the hunger is something new, and it makes all the difference. "So beautiful," Rachel whispers huskily.

She's always had a way of saying that to make Quinn believe that she truly is beautiful. It's not just an empty word or a thoughtless compliment like it has been with so many others. With Rachel, it's merely an acknowledgment of Quinn's external appearance that's meant to pale in comparison to the value of Quinn's soul—the value that Rachel has always seemed to see despite all of the ugliness that Quinn buried herself beneath.

Quinn shifts restlessly under Rachel's dark gaze, resisting the urge to cross her arms over the parts of her that are so exposed. She's mostly come to terms with her body—the faint stretchmarks are meaningless next to the fading scars that mar her skin as a reminder of the accident that left her body broken and the painful months of recovery that followed. Coming out of that alive had changed her perspective on a lot of things, and her physical appearance is the least of them. These days, she tends to think of all her imperfections as proof that she's still alive, but there's still a tiny part of her that wishes she could be flawless for Rachel—whole and untouched by the mistakes of her past. Yet Quinn knows that those mistakes are what make them who they are, and without them, they wouldn't be here now.

Every lingering worry disappears the moment that Rachel's hands settle on her body—one on her hip and the other trailing a sensual path up over her belly and ribs. "I want you to know," she murmurs gravely, "that I haven't had a single drink tonight," and Quinn can't help grinning as she bites back a quiet laugh. Rachel shakes her head in mild warning. "I'm going to remember ___everything_," she promises—her lips curving wickedly around the words before they unerringly find Quinn's mouth. The hand on her hip slides around to cup her ass, and those fingers at her ribs curl to match the contour of her breast.

Quinn hums in pleasure, kissing her back with vigor and slipping her arms around Rachel's body to find the zipper of her dress—this situation does call for a little reciprocity after all—and it opens easily. Their lips never stray far apart for very long while Quinn works Rachel's (stubborn, tight) dress down over her arms. Rachel whimpers in frustration at being forced to let go of Quinn for any reason, but soon enough, her dress is gone, except for...

"You're wearing entirely too many layers," Quinn complains breathlessly, tugging at the nude slip that's still hiding Rachel's body from her.

Rachel giggles. "Says the woman who constantly covers her gorgeous body with jackets and sweaters in every style, length, and color." She smiles indulgently and takes a step back, crossing her arms to grip the loose fabric that skirts around her thighs, and effortlessly pulls the slip up over her body before tossing it away.

Rachel is gorgeous—all tan skin and muscled legs and perfect breasts—and Quinn has the odd thought that those bathroom drawings that she used to do were so incredibly wrong. "And you were keeping _that _covered with argyle and animal sweaters," she laments, unabashedly raking her eyes over Rachel's body in appreciation.

Rachel grins under her intense gaze, kicking away her heels so that she's standing in nothing but her black, bikini briefs. She lifts a hand and curls her finger. "Get over here," she beckons.

Quinn kicks off her own shoes with an eager smile before she's back in Rachel's arms and they're stumbling onto the bed amidst sultry kisses and delighted laughter. She never knew intimacy could be like this—to somehow move so effortlessly between desperate passion and lighthearted teasing—but she loves everything about it.

She especially loves it when Rachel shifts over her, sliding a thigh between her legs as she straddles her, and aligns their bodies in a way that has her hardened nipples rubbing enticingly against Quinn's breasts. She can feel the damp heat against her thigh, and she knows that Rachel is feeling the same thing because she's so incredibly aroused. Part of her wants to just rip Rachel's panties off and take her fast and hard to assuage the ache that's been building for so long, but another part of her wants to go slow—to take her time and draw out the experience until she's learned every inch of her body by touch, and Rachel is begging her for release.

Rachel finds the spot on Quinn's throat that she'd already marked and licks at the skin before drawing in into her mouth. Quinn moans and grinds her hips up into Rachel's thigh, filling her hands with that delectable ass for leverage and abandoning the option for slow because she honestly doesn't think that she can wait. Her fingers slip under the material, and she considers whether or not she can successfully rip them off and whether Rachel will get upset with her if she does. "I want these off," she demands. "I want you completely naked."

Rachel's teeth scrape along her skin, and Quinn hisses in pleasure. When she lifts her head, her brown eyes are nearly black, and her hair falls in a wild curtain around their faces. "So take them off," she challenges with a sexy grin.

Quinn barely resists the urge to rip them—or attempt to, at any rate—and instead firmly plants a foot against the mattress and deftly flips them over, pinning a giggling Rachel beneath her on the bed. She smirks down at her girlfriend, thoroughly enjoying the change in position that leaves Rachel spread out beneath her with her hair fanned out across the sheets. Quinn brushes back a few errant strands that have fallen across her eyes, following the silken locks down to their tips before ghosting her fingers over Rachel's shoulders. She begins a slow, meandering path across her chest and over the curve of her left breast where she idly circles the nipple and listens to Rachel's breath hitch. She's momentarily distracted from her quest to remove Rachel's panties by both the visible responses to her touch and the restless rocking of Rachel's hips beneath her.

Quinn lowers her head and drags her tongue over the pulse point at Rachel's throat and is rewarded with a low moan that vibrates against her lips. She sinks lower on the mattress and trails her mouth down along a route parallel to the one her hand had taken until she encounters the rigid nipple of Rachel's right breast and traces her tongue around it.

"Oh, fff-fuck," Rachel grunts, jerking her hips up sharply. Rachel Berry swearing is the sexiest thing that Quinn has ever heard, and her body responds accordingly, flushing with heat and throbbing in time with her heart. Fingers tangle into Quinn's hair at the same moment that she lifts her head to glance at Rachel's face with an arched eyebrow. Rachel is panting harshly, her eyes are wide and glassy, and she looks a little surprised by her own reaction.

"Oh, we will," Quinn promises with a wicked grin, dipping her head back down to capture her nipple again.

The fingers in her hair tighten as Rachel gasps and bites back another curse. Her free hand manages to find Quinn's right breast between their bodies and pinch at her nipple in a matching rhythm to Quinn's mouth, and Quinn is suddenly the one shifting restlessly to find just the right position to satisfy the ache between her legs.

Rachel whimpers, abandoning Quinn's breast to reach down and attempt to work her own panties over her hips. "You…you need to get these off me," she begs, reminding Quinn of her original intent before she was so pleasantly distracted. She smiles against Rachel's breast and gives her nipple one last playful tug with her teeth. Rachel's back arches, and she growls, tugging at Quinn's hair.

Quinn chuckles and pulls back, gliding her hand down over Rachel's smooth belly. She doesn't exactly have perfect abs, but Quinn finds her curves incredibly alluring. Their fingers brush together for a moment when she finally dips under the waistband of Rachel's panties and drags the material down over those amazing legs. She can actually smell her arousal, and it turns Quinn on even more to know that it's all because of her. Rachel may not be gay, but she's damn sure Quinn-sexual, and that's more than enough for her.

She tosses Rachel's panties over her shoulder and contemplates what she wants to do next—crawl up her body and continue to tease her or dive right in and finally get a taste of Rachel Berry. She licks her lips and grins, curling an arm under Rachel's leg and lifting it high enough for her to press an open-mouthed kiss to her calf. The position affords her a very nice view of Rachel's glistening folds, and she has every intention of kissing a slow trail up to that delectable destination.

Rachel's eyelids flutter, and she presses a hand between her legs, blocking Quinn's view as she dips her fingers inside of herself. Quinn moans at the sight. "That's not fair," she whines. "I want to do that."

Rachel chuckles breathlessly. "So stop teasing me and do it."

"Such a bossy little thing," Quinn comments, letting go of her leg and pausing to shimmy out of her own panties under Rachel's heated gaze.

She watches Rachel bite into her lip and press her fingers down to circle her clit. Quinn whimpers at the sight, quickly scampering up the mattress and kissing Rachel deeply while she curves her own hand over Rachel's and presses down. Rachel gasps against her lips, and Quinn takes advantage of her momentary surprise to gently pull Rachel's hand away until her own can replace it—fingers curling into hot, slippery folds. Rachel moans, angling her hips and spreading her legs wider to accommodate Quinn's exploration.

She's touched herself before—more often than a good, Christian girl should—and she's touched Rachel through the barrier of her panties during the few, brief encounters that they've had until now, but this is an entirely different experience. She wants to take her time to discover all of those places that make Rachel hiss with pleasure.

_Like that one_, she thinks triumphantly when Rachel cries out and digs her blunt fingernails into Quinn's ass. She focuses her attention over that same spot, pushing Rachel higher as she kisses her way down her jaw, determined to head south until Rachel works her own hand between their bodies and presses two fingers against Quinn's clit.

Quinn shudders to a momentary stop. "Oh, my God," she rushes out, rolling her hips forward and dropping her forehead to Rachel's shoulder. She didn't realize how close she is to her own climax until this moment, but now all she wants is keep riding Rachel's fingers until she comes.

"M-maybe we…we need to be…quick now and…s- slow later," Rachel pants out, rubbing her fingers in tiny circles against her clit as she jerks her own hips up to meet Quinn's now lax hand.

Quinn puffs out a harsh breath against Rachel's chest and shifts her own hips, humming her agreement as she settles her body more fully over Rachel's hand and continues to roll her hips forward. She has enough presence of mind to sink her fingers deeper into Rachel and press her thumb against her clit. Rachel's body draws her in, tightening around her fingers, and she can only hope that Rachel is close to her own orgasm because Quinn doesn't think she can hold hers off for very long.

She hazily recalls being in this position before during that first drunken night together, only they were wearing more clothes at the time and Rachel was on top of her, grinding against her thigh with her hand beneath Quinn's panties and her fingers buried deep inside of Quinn. They'd been a little more inelegant thanks to the alcohol, especially Rachel, but the result had been the same—moans and curses and trembling limbs that lead to colorful explosions behind her eyelids as her body finally reaches its peak and falls over the edge.

Rachel arches beneath her, pressing her fingers more firmly against Quinn to help her ride out her orgasm as she frantically tries to follow. Quinn gasps for breath, feeling the waves of pleasure crash through her before she collapses against Rachel with her heart pounding in her ears and her body throbbing with rhythmic aftershocks. Rachel is still moving against her, and Quinn musters up the strength to keep her hand in (sloppy) motion and curl her fingers in search of that spot again. She manages to slide her body down to provide a little extra weight behind her movements, putting her mouth conveniently closer to Rachel's breast, so she turns her head and closes her teeth over the tempting bud, brushing her tongue across the peak. The extra stimulation is enough to send Rachel flying, and her back bows as she cries out Quinn's name with her body shuddering and fluttering around her fingers.

Quinn gives a last gentle lick to Rachel's nipple before letting it go. She tips her head up, resting her cheek against Rachel's shoulder as she gazes at her face. Her eyes are closed, and her cheeks are flushed, and she's never looked more beautiful to Quinn—and Quinn has never felt so content and in love. She gently pulls her fingers free, grinning when Rachel whimpers at the loss. She considers wiping them on the sheet or across her own thigh, but then she remembers that Rachel had managed to derail her from her original destination, and she brings them to her mouth instead, tasting Rachel for the first time. The flavor settles on her tongue, and she wouldn't even be exaggerating to say that it's the best thing she's ever tasted. It makes her want more.

Rachel hisses out a breath, and Quinn glances up to see those brown eyes open and watching her with muted desire. Quinn slips her fingers out of her mouth and grins at Rachel. "I think Berry is my new favorite flavor," she teases, stroking those same fingers in teasing, abstract figures on the soft skin of Rachel's stomach. "But I'll need another taste to be sure."

Rachel moans, weakly wrapping an arm around Quinn in a loose embrace. "Just give me a minute to catch my breath," she says, "and then we're definitely trying this slower."

Quinn giggles, snuggling into Rachel and just watching her breathe for a few peaceful moments. "I love you," she whispers happily.

"Mmm...love you, too," Rachel murmurs, mindlessly tracing her hands over Quinn's back and buttocks. "You know, I've never done this with the lights on before," she muses, tenderly gazing down at Quinn.

Quinn wishes that she could say the same, but unfortunately Puck hadn't bothered to turn the light off anymore than he'd bothered to wear a condom. Then again, neither one of them had gotten completely naked, and she'd been drunk anyway, so in a way, "I really haven't either."

Rachel smiles down at her, lifting her hand to brush back Quinn's hair. "It feels kind of symbolic."

"It does," Quinn agrees. They always have had a way of seeing through one another, so it's only fitting that they're comfortable enough together to let each other see everything now—beauty and flaws alike.

"It also means that I get to watch you come," Rachel points out mildly, "and that's something I'll want to see again and again."

Quinn knows that she's probably blushing by the way her cheeks heat, but there are other parts of her heating as well, and she intends to do something about it. "Funny that," she counters, "because I was just thinking that listening to you scream my name as _you_ come is something that ___I'll _want to hear again and again."

"How convenient," Rachel observes. "Perhaps we should explore this new thing we seem to have in common," she suggests, licking her lips.

Quinn grins wickedly, slipping down Rachel's body and settling between her legs. "Oh, I plan to explore everything," she purrs against Rachel's sensitive flesh.

And she does—well into the early hours of the morning.

The lights stay on until they finally collapse—sated and exhausted—tangled together in body and soul. Quinn pulls Rachel close, feeling their hearts beat in unison as they drift into dreams of forever, caught in the pull of each other's gravity.

* * *

²_"When You Say Nothing At All" by Alison Krauss (1995)_


End file.
